


The Oiran

by NestingHedwig_aka_LinW



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Chan, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Out of Character, Sexual Content, Slash sex, Tragedy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-06
Updated: 2008-07-09
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10097072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NestingHedwig_aka_LinW/pseuds/NestingHedwig_aka_LinW
Summary: A dark little tale written for the 2008 Snarry Games. Summary: When the Dark Lord orders his favored Potion Master to investigate some puzzling medical data collected by the Ministry, Severus Snape is thrust into an underground world full of halfbloods and Muggleborns trying to survive in a Wizarding world controlled by blood prejudice. There, he meets the green-eyed entertainer called The Phoenix, and a larger plot of potions injustice and Ministry apathy unfolds.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Team: Snarry Games 2008 - Team Phoenix  
Prompts: Alternate Universe and Hurt/Comfort   
Genres: Career Change  
Rating/Warning/Kinks: M+ (prostitution, slavery, m-preg, drug use, non-con, mention of underage, non-con in group settings)  
Pairings: Harry/Severus, Harry/Draco, Harry/Marcus, Harry/Cedric, Harry/Others shown and implied.  
Betas: leela_cat, Mistressmaraj, Ziasudra  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including, but not limited, to Scholastic Books and Warner Bros. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended; no monetary gain will be made from this story.  
~*~*~*

 

THE OIRAN

~*~*~*  
PART ONE – the Lessons of History

“You have not lived until you have done something   
for someone who can never repay you.”  
\- Unknown 

~*~*~*  
June 1959

The Dark Lord’s Potion Master Alfred Severus Prince wiped the sweat from his granddaughter’s fevered brow. With a cool, damp cloth, he smoothed back her tangled hair, revealing her small, plain face. The old man seethed. He didn’t know who to blame for his only grandchild’s suicide attempt.

Master Prince ran his wand over the unconscious seventeen year old. The swift ingestion of a bezoar and the accompanying emetic of ipecac had purged her system of most of the deadly toxins. His wand hovered over her slightly curved abdomen and he smiled grimly at a soft, pulsating glow. His potion-stained fingers rested lightly on his granddaughter’s pelvis, his mind cataloging all the potions he would need to brew to strengthen the nearly three month old male fetus growing inside of her. The Prince Heir.

“Ennervate.”

Eileen Prince reluctantly opened her eyes; her grandfather’s severe face hovered above her. She attempted to curl up into a protective ball, to hide from him.

“Why did you save me, Grandfather?” she whimpered. “I am a disgrace to the Prince Clan and do not deserve…”

With his temper barely in check, Master Prince forced his granddaughter to meet his gaze, his fingers grasping her chin.

“Suicide is a selfish solution and will not remove the shame you have brought upon yourself. If there were not an innocent involved, I would have let you die. This little one inside you deserves his chance at life.”

Eileen turned ashen as the emetic continued its objective. Master Prince held the basin as the last of her stomach contents emptied. With a gagging sound, she expelled the sodden remains of the bezoar.

Sitting beside his drained granddaughter, he wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders. He was incredibly angry with her, but at the moment, she needed comfort, not confrontation.

“Give me the name of the schoolmate who has impregnated you. He will do what is right by you and the clan.”

Eileen let out a hiccupy sob. “Not a schoolmate…not a wizard….Muggle.”

“A Muggle? You let a Muggle defile you?” He paused. “Did he rape you?”

Eileen sobbed harder. Master Prince shook her. “Get control of yourself, girl. You are a Prince; act like one. You will tell me what happened now. I cannot and will not feed you a Calming Draught. With the damage you have done to the lining of your stomach and esophagus, you would hemorrhage.”

As Eileen struggled to control her emotions, a story tumbled out that further infuriated the Dark wizard.

In what had become a Hogwart’s tradition, instead of heading home during the Easter Break, all Seventh Year students ventured into Muggle London without adult chaperones. For the majority of the pureblood witches and wizards, it would be their final youthful fling before taking on the mantle of adult responsibilities. Eileen Prince was a very plain girl and had never been much of a social creature. Having no interest in visiting various Muggle pubs and nightclubs, she soon found herself left behind by her more adventurous classmates.

Alone, Eileen drifted into the many small shops and galleries bordering a large Muggle University. She blended with the students, her slightly odd clothing not sticking out in the always eclectic mix of university fashion. Browsing through the towering stacks of a used bookseller, she was surprised and flattered when a young Muggle man began to flirt with her.

A social innocent, Eileen did not realize she was being seduced by a callous young man looking for an easy conquest. If Tobias Snape had been a handsome man, perhaps Eileen would have shown more caution, but the twenty year old Engineering student was not much to look at himself. He was extremely tall, much too thin, and he had a rather prominent nose. He did, however, possess a beautiful voice and an intelligent mind. Eileen became a willing victim to his charms.

“…And then he took me to this disgusting Muggle pub and left me at a table with two other girls. Tobias and his friends were all laughing and a few of the others handed him currency. He pointed to me and…” Eileen’s small frame shook violently. “And announced to everyone that he had won that week’s ‘Dogfight’…that he had fucked the ugliest bitch in the room…”

Master Prince watched as his traumatized granddaughter slipped finally into a healing sleep. He idly twirled his wand in his stained fingers. He would find the animal responsible for his granddaughter’s disgrace. He would find this Tobias Snape and, willing or not, Snape would give his name to Eileen and the unborn heir.

It would be scandal enough that his great-grandson was a halfblood; he refused to permit his little halfblood Prince to bear the stain of illegitimacy as well. Tobias Snape would marry his Eileen even if his Eileen had to marry a corpse.

~*~*~*  
May 1991

He could just make out the two prisoners confined in a small cage. 

Stripped to their undergarments, the werewolf and his cub huddled together for warmth. The small boy straddled the werewolf’s legs and snuggled against his protector’s heavily scarred chest, comforted by a hand rubbing his bare back in soothing circles. The older man’s steady heartbeat relaxed the child; he rested his head on the man’s shoulder.

“Will they torture us before they kill us?” The cub asked softly.

“I imagine they will, but not until tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.” The werewolf ruffled his cub’s messy dark hair.

The child shivered in the cool dampness of their prison. “They didn’t need to take our clothes…”

The werewolf did not reply. Knowing that they had been stripped for both intimidation and security, he was grateful they had not been left naked. The predatory way several captors had eyed the ten year old had not escaped his attention. With a silent prayer to both Merlin and the Muggle Gods, the man hoped he would not have to witness his cub’s rape on the morrow. The man swept the meager layer of straw lining the bottom of the cage into a shallow pile, barely enough to cover their legs.

The boy shifted off his lap. His intelligent eyes glittered in the darkness. He stood up, extending one bony arm through the bars.

“What are you doing, Ris?”

“I’d rather not freeze to death while waiting for them to kill me….Accio drapery!”

Standing in the shadows, thirty-six year old Lucius Malfoy startled as the young boy’s unexpected wandless magic detached a heavy drapery panel from its rod and floated slowly to his outstretched fingers. The pale light from hundreds of stars cast the cage in a soft glow.

“It’s a bit dusty, but the velvet will be soft and warm.”

~*~*~*~  
The lycanthrope tucked the pilfered velvet yardage around the sleeping boy’s slender form. His amber eyes fixed on the shadows.

“You can stop trying to hide from me now,” he called out softly. “I know that you’re there, Lucius Malfoy…I can smell you.”

The Dark wizard stepped out from the opaque shadows, both men giving one another a grimace of recognition.

“Tell me about your cub, Lupin.” The wizard demanded. “Is he yours?”

A hand caressed the sleeping figure protectively. “The Ministry automatically sterilizes all lycanthropes so of course he isn’t mine - but Ris is of no consequence to you…just a Mudblood’s bastard child. I am the blood traitor your Master seeks…not him. He is just a ten year old orphan who found himself under my protection…Obliviate him and let him go…”

“Does he bear a mark?”

“He does not share my curse…he is just a human child.”

“Not ‘just’ a child,” Lucius toed a fold of velvet with his polished boot. “Your little cub is a wizard…halfblood spawn of another blood traitor, perhaps?”

~*~*~*  
“I love you,” the werewolf whispered as he hugged his cub for a final time. His hands left bloody prints on the child’s bare flesh.

Lucius flinched; the cub let out high pitched wails as Walden Macnair ripped him from his protector’s arms, tossing him roughly to the stone floor a short distance away.

Lupin howled as liquid silver was dripped across his scarred torso, blood erupting immediately on contact. Surrounded by his torturers, the werewolf hunched, futilely protecting his internal organs from the poisonous metal.

Macnair, the Dark Lord’s Executioner, stumbled as the cub scrambled off the floor and barreled into the back of the large man’s knees. All arms and legs, the small boy was no match for his much larger opponent. The executioner swatted the slender child as if he were an irritating fly, to the amusement of the other wizards.

Macnair reached for his razor sharp axe only to find Ris was back for another desperate attack, this time sinking his sharp little teeth into the muscular forearm, drawing blood.

Lucius did not join the laughter that echoed in the cavernous room. The cub once again wrapped himself around the tortured werewolf, whispering words Lucius realized were healing charms. He was frantically trying to halt the spread of the silver poisoning the werewolf’s bloodstream.

“Stop,” Lupin gasped. “Please stop, Ris. It’s too late.”

“No!” the child screamed as he was once again forcibly removed from his guardian’s presence. Macnair savagely backhanded him several times. He glared at the prone boy, daring him to attack again.

“You’re next, little Mudblood…I’m going to enjoy splitting your arse wide before I kill you.”

With the last of his adrenaline, Lupin lunged toward the executioner, teeth bared, only to be brought down by a Cruciatus Curse cast by another wizard. Macnair hefted the well-used axe, perfectly balanced in his large hands.

Lucius caught Ris in mid-flight and clasped the struggling youngster to his chest. Shared blood or not, the child considered Lupin to be his father. Malfoy had a ten year old son of his own safe at home. He would not have wanted his own child to witness an execution.

Ris struggled in the protective arms, fighting the Dark wizard’s attempts to keep his face turned away from the continued carnage. Lucius strengthened his grip on the thin figure, knowing he was leaving additional bruises. He ignored the blood smears damaging his finely tailored silk robes.

The axe swished in the air, followed by a sickening thud. Ris ceased his frantic struggle, all the fight drained from him instantaneously.

“Remmie,” he whispered.

~*~*~*  
May 2001 

Robes billowing impressively behind him, the Dark Lord’s Potion Master strode through the progressive levels of the granite edifice, barely acknowledging the complex warding spells as he passed through them. In his hands he held a silver tray containing several crystal vials filled with specially brewed medicinal potions.

Sunlight from the high windows bathed the corridor in bright light, refracting arcs of color from the stoppered vials. Exhausted from a night of brewing, Severus Snape momentarily shut his tired dark eyes, unaccustomed to the bright afternoon glow.

Severus paused before a set of heavy oak doors, giving a brief nod of greeting to the two Dark wizards guarding it. Reflexively, he smoothed back his lank black hair and adjusted his robes. He straightened his spine imperceptibly as one of the guards announced his arrival into the Dark Lord’s Inner Sanctum.

Severus gracefully dropped to his knees before an ancient wizard. He set the tray carefully on a low table beside the simple throne.

“My Lord,” he said respectfully, kissing the wizened hand extended to him.

“Rise, my young Prince.” The Dark Lord Grindelwald commanded, the strength of his magic overriding the fragility of his body. At nearly two hundred years of age, arthritis was slowly beginning to twist his fingers, making casual wand work painful, but his skill at wandless magic was unaffected by the ravages of time.

Severus silently took his place beside the other wizards of the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle. Having replaced his deceased great-grandfather as Lord Grindelwald’s Potion Master, he was the youngest member by decades. At first, some had questioned the halfblood’s unprecedented rise through the ranks, but his skill, intelligence and loyalty soon quelled all dissention.

One by one the elite wizards were dispatched to carry out their duties until only Severus and the Dark Lord remained. Grindelwald smiled benignly at him.

“Sit beside me, my dear. I am certain you are quite exhausted brewing these new concoctions that quack Zabini has prescribed. I will not keep you long.”

Severus approached his master with a slightly more relaxed stance. Raised by his great-grandfather, Severus had known Lord Grindelwald since before he could walk and he was not particularly terrified to be in the wizard’s presence. 

Grindelwald ingested the proffered potions without hesitation, a testament to the trust he held for the young brewer beside him. He held out one gnarled hand and Severus began to massage a healing gel into the twisted, aching fingers. 

The ancient eyes examined his young brewer. Severus had not had an easy life, but Grindelwald was proud of the strong man he had become, overcoming the many obstacles placed in his path. Severus looked up into the wizened face, conscious of the scrutiny.

“Master?”

The old man patted his gaunt cheek affectionately. “Still alone, my dear, no sweet little someone to warm your bed?”

“No, Master.” 

Severus kept his exasperation in check. The Dark Lord could sometimes be a meddlesome old bat. Whether he would have knowingly chosen this solitary path or not, at forty-one Severus was adjusted to bachelorhood. He knew he was too tall, too skinny and too ugly to attract anyone’s romantic eye, and, lacking the proper bloodlines, he would not delude himself. As one of the Dark Lord’s favored, many had tried to propose an advantageous political match, but Severus had no desire to be tied to a social climber or to become another’s trophy.

Grindelwald settled back into his chair and closed his eyes. Severus deserved more in his life than brewing potions and coddling the whims of an old man; he needed another half to complete him and perhaps a child or two.

~*~*~*  
“Sentimental old fool,” Grindelwald thought as the pain inhibiting potions coursed through his bloodstream leaving him in a blissfully calm state. His memories drifted to a much too serious toddler peering shyly out from behind a Potion Master’s robes as he acknowledged the Severus-shaped chink in his otherwise impenetrable armor.


	2. Part One

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~  
PART TWO  
~*~*~  
“Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day   
is the rest we take between two deep breaths.  
\- Etty Hillesum

Late May 2001

Severus gazed out of a multi-paned window in a Knockturn Alley apothecary as he waited for the owner to complete his order. He did not often leave the isolated sanctuary of his Cumbria laboratory, but he required a number of fragile ingredients. He didn’t trust anyone else to select them, nor did he trust the more delicate items’ delivery to Owl Post.

Beyond the glass, he observed several of the prostitutes and beggars who haunted the dangerous street. One of the young boys offering his body for sale did not look much older than ten or twelve. Unfortunately in Lord Grindlewald’s Society, many of these displaced witches and wizards were blood traitors, halfbloods and Muggleborns; even the lowly Squibs often rated higher on the food chain.

Not for the first time, he acknowledged that, if not for his great-grandfather Alfred Prince, he and his mother would have shared a similar fate. It had been difficult growing up a “Half-Blood Prince” but Severus had worn the childish taunt as a badge of honor. And now that he was a favored member of the Inner Circle, those who had tormented the homely little stick of a boy now conveniently ignored his less-than-pure heritage, bending over backward to show him the respect due his title. 

Idiots, the lot of them.

~*~*~  
Stefan Zabini, the Dark Lord’s Mediwizard looked up from his parchment-strewn desk. The figures filling a scroll in neat columns defied all logic. The old wizard glanced at his mantle clock; Severus was due for their weekly meeting. Perhaps the Potion Master could make sense of the information.

~*~*~  
“The research must be faulty, Stefan.” Severus’ potion stained fingers ran down a list of maladies. “Have you re-checked the source for error?”

“I have been tracking this for over a year and a half, Severus. When I first saw the data, I thought it to be an anomaly. Poppy Pomfrey at the Free Clinic has noticed this as well, but she, too, is at a loss to explain it.”

Severus examined several more scrolls before he set them all aside. He made a few notations into a battered notebook and then paused, his finger unconsciously tapping his lower lip.

“We seem to have two issues here, not one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Of the greatest importance is the recurring health issues exacerbated by the continued use of the potion regimen mandated by the Ministry for all entertainers employed by the sanctioned brothels. The monthly doses are building up, poisoning their systems. Many of the whores are becoming debilitated by the regime and several have died.”

“But not all.”

“Dublin and London have the lowest numbers. London has not had a fatality in three years.”

“At least that was officially documented,” Zabini commented dryly. He perused a scroll for a moment before looking up. “Has anyone ever tracked the blood purity of the whores in question? Could intrinsic magic somehow protect them?”

“Two and a half years ago both the Ministry of Magic and St. Bernadette’s Hospital in Dublin launched a study. As you can imagine, the Ministry study was short-lived and filled with so much propaganda as to be useless, but St. Bernadette’s is still tracking subject backgrounds and their study is quite thorough. So far they have found no real correlation between blood purity and the onset of illness. It does not even seem to matter if the witch or wizard’s magical core was strong; Squibs fare no worse than a pureblooded blood traitor.”

“A naturally occurring immunity, then?”

“In isolated incidents, perhaps – but it does not explain the pockets of immunity in London and, to a lesser extent, Dublin.” Severus paused, and then reached for a sheaf of forms bound between leather covers. He flipped through the contracts of the various professionals brewing the Ministry-mandated potions.

“Seems to be a mixed skillset…potion masters, apothecaries and medicinal brewers…ah, here it is….Dublin’s potions are brewed by a chemist in the St. Bernadette’s Hospital Apothecary – a Thomas O’Malley…I can’t seem to find a London contract, but the contracts are not in alphabetical order or any other easily discernible order.”

“They are listed by contract signature date…Don’t look at me like that, Severus…this is the imbecilic Ministry of Magic we’re talking about.” Zabini exchanged a wry smile with Severus. “Might not be listed as London – cross-reference Diagon or Knockturn…although I seem to remember the name ‘A. Jigger’ on a test sample.”

“Arsenius Jigger? As in Jigger and Slug Apothecaries?”

“I think so.”

“Can’t be. Slug is the Potion Master. While Jigger wrote a textbook on potions, he is primarily a Master Herbologist.” Severus flipped through the sheaf of contacts page by page. “Here it is…that can’t be right either. The name on the contract is Aristotle Ambrosias Jigger.”

“Son? Grandson?”

“Grandson or nephew, I think, but he isn’t a potion master or even a herbologist. Aristotle Jigger is an accountant.”

“Perhaps he brews as a side line?”

“I’ve met Aristotle Jigger. He doesn’t know his arse from asphodel.” Severus sighed. “Well, now that’s three areas of research. We are going to have to check the accuracy of the credentials of all of the witches and wizards receiving the Ministry stipend to brew the mandated potions.”

“I can set one of my apprentices to that task – although time consuming – it should all be public record. But what is our second issue?”

“London. Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, specifically. They have skewed the data in more than just the potions.” Severus pointed to a list of figures on a long scroll of parchment. “In every other city, the spread of sexually transmitted diseases among a certain segment of both the Wizard and Muggle population alike is on the increase. There is no logical reason for the infection rates to have declined at such a marked rate only in the underbelly of Wizarding London. The data must be faulty…”

Zabini shook his head. “The data has been collected from St. Mungo’s, The Free Clinic and the Ministry of Magic. The majority of the test subjects have come from the Knockturn Alley brothels and Ministry sweeps of the back alleys of Knockturn and Diagon. At first, I questioned only the Ministry findings – thinking they were once again trying to obscure a potential scandal, but then I discovered the examinations are not conducted by Ministry officials. All St. Mungo’s Mediwizard Apprentices serve a rotation through the Ministry gaol. One or two of the apprentices may have reached faulty diagnosis through inexperience, but there is no way forty-three of them could reach the same faulty diagnosis.”

Severus’ long finger tapped thoughtfully atop an inked number. “These results show an inconsistency. Test samples taken from most of the non-Diagon/Knockturn entertainers show a buildup of toxins in the bloodstream and tissues, but those taken from Diagon/Knockturn subjects show little to no evidence of a foreign body. And since the readings vary from subject to subject, it must point to the way the body absorbs the mixture.”

“All of the brewers are supposed to brew according to a specified set of instructions, are they not?” Zabibi asked.

“I know that the brewers were provided a booklet with the guidelines for the three mandated potions. Of course, that is no guarantee that the brewers have not altered the formula over the years. We need to compare the last batch of samples sent against one another.”

“So the anomaly may not be in the whore, but in the potion itself?”

“It would make sense if the study was limited only to the Ministry sanctioned brothels…their financial liquidity depends upon healthy workers…an infection traced back to a particular location would be fatal for business…and they can afford the finest curative potions available….but the protection also shows up in the London streetwalkers to a lesser degree…and they would not have access to readily affordable cures or prohibitives…”

Severus thought back to the wretched little creatures he saw haunting the shadows of Knockturn Alley. What few knuts and sickles they earned would have been spent on food and basic necessities; they would not have wasted their meager funds on medicinal potions.

Zabini held out a small scroll. “Poppy’s clinic is the only access to healthcare that most of the beggars will ever see. She doesn’t have the funds to cure or prevent the spread of venereal diseases except on a limited patient-to-patient basis. Someone is providing a potion to all of the whores…but I wonder why. Surely there can be no profit in extending the pathetic life of halfblood and Mudblood whores.”

“Has anyone asked them where they get the potion?” Severus inquired.

Zabini laughed. “You think they are going to divulge any information to the authorities? They trust Poppy to an extent, and she won’t betray that trust by asking too many questions. The nearest we can figure is that the potion is given with no repayment expected. The independent whores won’t risk the loss of their potions for anything.”

“Aristotle Jigger has never struck me as much of an altruistic Samaritan.”


	3. Part Three

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~  
PART THREE  
“Nothing is more sad than the death of an illusion.”  
\- Arthur Koestler

~*~*~  
May 2001

Severus studied the early 17th century silk faced ningyo figurine of an oiran from the Yoshiwara Pleasure Quarter in Edo, Japan. The detail was exquisite, down to the intricate silk layers of the kimono, her brocade obi tied traditionally to the front, perched upon the high platforms of the geta. The elaborate hair was decorated in miniature jeweled combs. 

When he was a child, the serene doll had captivated him. Severus carefully replaced the tall glass dome protecting the antique, thankful for the magical spells shielding the delicate cloth work of art from the ravages of time.

~*~*~  
Spring 1968

Severus’ eyes sparkled as he counted the shelves in the Malfoy Estate Library and tried to calculate how many thousands of books they held. He scurried away from the scowling portrait of an early Malfoy ancestor who viewed him with undisguised malice.

Severus looked over displays of swords and daggers, of Medals of Honor and jewel-encrusted snuffboxes. A tall glass domed display froze his nervous pacing and he found himself drawn to a beautiful oriental figurine. A geisha doll, he thought, as he examined the intricate miniature embroidered phoenix on the hem of the kimono.

Lucius Malfoy crept up on the halfblood wizard who was expected to become his Companion. Severus Tobias Snape was the great-grandson of the Dark Lord’s Potion Master and already a bit of a potions prodigy. Lucius fixed his critical eye on the eight year old; having recently lost his mother, the thin figure was dressed in the severe black robes of mourning. The boy was already quite tall for his age and sported a Roman nose too large for his face. Intelligent dark brown, almost black, eyes acknowledged his presence.

“The doll is beautiful. Is she very old?” Severus asked.

“Early 17th Century, I believe.”

“Is it a geisha?”

“Something similar…she is an oiran.”

“What is an oiran?”

“In ancient Japan the oiran entertained the higher classes in the Edo Pleasure Houses.” Lucius smirked at the young boy’s innocent expression. “She’s a whore, Severus. High class, but a whore nevertheless.”

~*~*~*  
May 2001

A sliver of amusement flickered in Severus as he remembered his eight year old self. He remembered the research he had done on oiran, unsuccessfully trying to defend the beautiful figurine against Lucius’ crude words.

Lucius paused at the doorway, knowing Severus always found time to visit his oiran on the rare occasions he visited the manor. Then, he moved rapidly into the room and wrapped his arms around the taller man, pressing his broad chest against Severus’ spine. 

“Still pining for your whore, Severus?” He asked, purring in Severus’ ear.

Severus’ lip curled into his habitual sneer. After all these years, Lucius still did not understand the lure of the oiran doll. The Pleasure Houses of the Yoshiwara were never just brothels and the oiran was not a common whore. The courtesan chose her lovers from the most powerful men and her favor was prized. Kabuki plays often featured the tragic tales of oiran falling in love with a poor man, but Severus’ cynical nature decided that was merely the stuff of fantasies.

What Severus admired about an oiran was the influence she once held in Feudal Japanese Society; her skill at entertaining the powerful could raise a girl of dubious heritage to the pinnacle of her profession. But an oiran, no matter how popular, would never find approval in polite society. A pureblood, Lucius would never understand the parallels Severus saw between himself and the beautiful oiran. As both a halfblood and the Dark Lord’s Potion Master, he was admired and courted for his skills, but he would never truly find acceptance in pureblood society. 

~*~*~  
Severus patted his thin lips with a cloth napkin and returned the fabric square to his lap. Afternoon tea at Malfoy Manor was always a delight to his discerning palate.

“It is wonderful to see you again, and Merlin knows, I wish it happened on a more frequent basis. You are not here just to make sure I have not disposed of your doll, are you?”

“The Dark Lord has requested that Stefan Zabini and I reconcile some puzzling medical data compiled by the Ministry about the spread of sexually transmitted diseases among the prostitutes of Wizarding London. I was hoping to impose upon your hospitality.”

Lucius nodded. Although not a core business, the Malfoy family owned and operated a number of exclusive hotels in London, Paris and Monte Carlo. The London hotel – the Hotel Britannia – housed both an elite Gentleman’s Club and a popular nightclub. Lucius tapped thoughtfully on his lip.

“Are you planning to investigate ‘La Jarretelle Noir’? You know my entertainers follow a potions regimen stricter than the Ministry mandates.”

“As do all of the dollhouses in Diagon Alley. I intend to randomly test the prostitutes in the regulated establishments as a baseline, but I will need a larger sampling among the Knockturn Alley brothels and the independent streetwalkers…The data Zabini and I have been tracking show the rates of infection have dramatically dropped in London…”

“Sounds like good news to me.” Stung by Severus’ use of the common word ‘dollhouse’ to describe his club, Lucius spoke sharply.

“If it made any sense. We just don’t trust the Ministry data. They continue to ignore the spread of sexually transmitted diseases worldwide. Ministry policy states that the Muggle world has no effect the Magical Community, but you know as well as I do…too many wizards like to delve into the underbelly of Muggle society. It’s no longer just syphilis, chlamydia, gonorrhea or the hepatitis variations - those we can cure. The Muggle world now had a deadly retrovirus which destroys the human immune system and there is no cure as yet.” 

“Why should anyone care if a whore contracts a Muggle disease? We can easily take care of them.”

“Hardly.” Severus mentally shuddered. He knew what would happen to a prostitute who was suspected of infecting a pureblood – irregardless of the whether another pureblood initially brought the infection from the Muggle world. Avada Kedavra. But what if the indiscrete pureblood wizard spread the disease to his pregnant pureblood wife before the disease was discovered? Killing the unfortunate whore would not eradicate the problem.

“The Dark Lord is concerned with far-reaching implications of any threat to the future of our world.” Severus peered down his overly large nose and waited for the information to hit home. “It will take me one week, two at most, to collect my initial samples. Stefan will be sampling the prostitutes currently incarcerated. When all the samples are collected, they will be analyzed for both infection and the levels of this foreign substance in the bloodstream. Rather than Apparate daily to and from my home, I wish to let a smaller, less pretentious room in your hotel.” 

Lucius sipped on his cooling tea and cast an unconscious warming charm on the porcelain cup.  
“I have a private suite of rooms within ‘La Jarretelle Noir’ itself that might suit your purposes better. The hotel is solidly booked at the moment…England is playing a series of Quidditch matches against the undefeated Welsh Team. And remember, June Fourth is Draco’s ‘Vingt Premierement’. You are planning to attend the ball, are you not?”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it.” Severus replied blandly. 

As Lucius’ former halfblood Companion, Severus had earned the protection of the Malfoy name after his great-grandfather died, and he still enjoyed the company of the adult Lucius. Only out of respect for the father would he acknowledge the eve of Draconis’ twenty-first birthday. Draco was a shallow, vicious young wizard and was ideally suited for his current role as one of Lord Grindelwald’s elite assassins. 

Unable to have a second child, Lucius and his wife Narcissa had given in to any and every childish whim and were now the proud parents of a viper.

~*~*~*  
His traveling trunks gently deposited at the foot of a decadent bed, Severus tipped both bellhops a galleon, much to their shock and Lucius’ amusement. The bellhops, Dean and Seamus, scurried from the room, as if afraid the Potion Master would realize he had given them galleons, not knuts or sickles.

“If you spoil them too much, they will forget their place,” Lucius admonished.

Severus barely glanced at him before checking that the contents of his potions chest had not been damaged in travel. Those who had never needed to worry about their next meal would never understand the psyche of those who did.

“And should I need a questionable errand run at some ungodly hour, I will have no problem finding a willing boy, will I? I have no doubt that my largesse will be well known among the hotel staff in less than one hour.”

Lucius laughed. Severus did not travel often, but he did know the rules of the game.

~*~*~  
Severus tapped his wand against the simple black door leading into “La Jarrette Noir”.

“You are now keyed into the wards.” Lucius said. “You have complete access to ‘La Noir’ whether or not the dance or private clubs are open. I will need to return home soon. Cissa is driving me mad about last minute arrangements for Draco’s fete. I keep reminding her we hired the top event planner, but what do I know? My darling Phoenix will give you a complete tour of the facilities.”

They stepped into the main floor of the facility, containing the public nightclub. Severus eyes swept over the waitpersons who wore an odd array of costumes. His eyes did not linger on any of them. The Gentleman’s Private Club upstairs was a thinly disguised brothel available by appointment only. Severus reminded himself that the draw of Lucius’ clubs were that they catered to sexual fantasies. Although by Ministry Decree, all of the entertainers and waitpersons must be of legal age, there was more than one tiny figure dressed in a Muggle school uniform. An angel floated by in a dress that left little to the imagination.

“Flint,” Lucius barked and a stocky wizard lumbered across the empty dance floor and bowed. “Notify Phoenix our esteemed guest has arrived.”

Flint bowed once again before disappearing into a shadowed alcove.

Malfoy motioned Severus to a small table near the bar. The bartender automatically brought over a bottle of wine and two glasses. Gentlemen’s clubs and dancehalls were not to Severus’ usual tastes, but Lucius ensured that his facility was a cut above the norm. There would be no cage or pole dancers in this establishment. Anyone seeking that sort of low-brow entertainment was sent to ‘Borgin’s Dollhouse’ in Knockturn Alley or into Muggle London.

Keen hearing catching the soft click of wood on tile, Severus looked up at a silken clad confection. Before him stood a tall, willowy figure dressed in several layers of silk kimono, a brocade obi tied to the front. Embroidered phoenix undulated at the hem of the outermost kimono. Severus’ face did not reveal his shock– the oiran in the Malfoy Manor Library stood before him in human form.

Lucius had, apparently been keeping secrets from him.

~*~*~  
The stark white face almost glowed in the low light of the club. The traditional makeup was perfectly applied - red eye shadow and black eye liner accentuated the large almond-shaped emerald eyes. Lips partially painted in crimson smiled at something Lucius whispered into a delicate ear. The oiran’s heavy black wig was done up in an elaborate knot, studded with a number of decorative combs.

“Welcome to ‘La Jarretelle Noir’, Master Snape. Your reputation precedes you.” The husky voice was pleasant to the Potion Master’s ears. The tell-tale Adam’s apple confirmed that the creature was male.

Lucius stood up. He caught the oiran’s chin and tilted him backwards, leaning down to place a chaste kiss to the crimson lips.

“Severus is my oldest friend, my darling. I trust you to cater to his every whim.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

*~*~*~  
The oiran’s pale hand rested gently on Severus’ proffered arm. Severus was surprised to find the figure beside him stood almost at his height. The Phoenix took several steps, the oddly sensual gait caused by the impossibly high base of the traditional geta he wore. Severus wondered idly how anyone could walk in the high-platform sandals.

“How should I address you?” Severus asked.

“I am known as ‘The Phoenix’, but I think I would rather you called me Harry.”

Severus arched an eyebrow. “Harry?”

“Not terribly elegant or mysterious, is it?” Harry’s eyes glittered in amusement.

“Perhaps not,” Severus replied. “But your costume is impeccable. What made you decide to dress as an oiran?”

“Most wizards assume I am geisha. You are the first to realize that there is a difference.”

Severus could not imagine that too many British wizards shared an eight year old’s fascination with a ningyo figurine. He noted that Harry practiced the fashionable Eastern habit of fastening his garment left-over-right and simply said, “Geisha tie their obi to the back.” 

~*~*~*  
The silken sleeve brushed over Severus’ hand as Harry stepped away to give last minute instructions to some of the prostitutes. Void of the traditional layers of padding and stiffeners, the kimono flowed down the thin figure. Severus admired the way the silk kimono rippled in erotic waves. He shook his head to clear it; he had no time to indulge in sexual fantasies.

Damn Lucius, he thought as he watched Harry flirt coquettishly with Marcus Flint, the homely, snaggletooth club bouncer. Flint handed him a slender object from the hidden recesses of his robe.

With a practiced flick, Harry unfurled a delicate paper fan, glancing at the fan before he snapped it shut, tucking it into the folds of his brocade obi. Harry floated back toward Severus and took his arm.

“Mr. Flint informs me that Wales has beaten England in this round of the Quidditch Playoffs. Let us continue the tour before ‘La Noir’ becomes a madhouse.”

~*~*~  
Harry paused at the top of a steep, weakly illuminated stairway. His pale hand clutched at a thin iron railing before he gathered the flowing silk into his other arm and took a tentative step down.

“Harry, stop,” Severus ordered, an image of the oiran slipping out of his high geta and tumbling down the rough hewn stone steps. “What is so important to show me that you would risk descending that poor excuse of a staircase?”

The geta rocked on the uneven surface of the ancient stone step. Harry debated for just a moment before deciding against descent.

“At the base of the steps is a hallway leading to the hotel’s potion workroom. You are welcome to use it during your stay, however I must caution you that it is extremely primitive compared to the workrooms you are accustomed to using. Ris is the only one currently brewing in the facility and he will be more than willing to accommodate any requirements you may have.”

“Ris?”

“He brews the Ministry sanctioned potions we require.”

“Aristotle Jigger is the Potion Master on record for the brewing. Jigger is the wizard receiving the Ministry stipend. Is Ris a Potion Master? Jigger’s Apprentice?”

Harry smiled, his teeth white against the crimson lipstick.

“Ris is self-taught. As the bastard son of a Mudblood whore and a blood traitor, there were no schools open to him. When he fell out of favor with his master, Lord Malfoy brought him here.”

“You would trust an amateur to brew your potions? His inexperience could prove fatal.” Severus was horrified; potions brewing was both an art and a science. Medicinal potions should only be brewed by a Potion Master or a Master Brewer.

“There is no one else to brew them. Master Jigger tests them sporadically for quality…and if Ris accidentally misbrews a potion and damages us…” Harry shrugged his shoulder. “Lord Malfoy may dress us up as any fantasy figure he wishes…but in the end…we are only whores.”

~*~*~*  
Harry fluttered his fan and sighed.

“I apologize, Master Snape, but I will be unable to complete your tour. I have an appointment I must not be late for…”

The Phoenix led the older wizard through the main floor of the nightclub, now teeming with Quidditch players and fans, bombarded with the loud, pulsing beat of music. Harry held out his hand and Severus followed the young man up a wide staircase. As they climbed the steps, the noise from the main floor faded, classical music filtering through the air. Harry paused.

“I must leave you here, Master Snape. To your right is the Gentleman’s Club – catering to more sophisticated tastes. I will send Lee out to continue your tour. He can give you access to the Viewing Gallery, if that is to your tastes.” Harry gave a graceful bow. “I look forward to sharing more of your delightful company.”

~*~*~  
Severus climbed into his bed, leaning against a nest of pillows. After the noise of the nightclub, the silence of his borrowed rooms was welcoming. He mentally catalogued the scope of his research and examined his intended methodology. Aristotle Jigger’s questionable role also needed to be examined.

Faces flickered in his mind; the Potion Master paused. He always prided himself on his methodological research, his detached problem solving, but this little process to collect raw data had suddenly taken on an unexpected dimension. No matter how much he might try to dismiss it, this raw data would come attached to faces and personalities.

Prostitution in one form or another had always existed in human history, but Severus previously viewed it in an abstract fashion. But the unvarnished reality of the profession had come into clear focus earlier in the evening.

Lee was a tall, black man with a slight Jamaican accent, dressed, strangely enough, as Cleopatra. He completed the tour Harry began. The Viewing Gallery was just as the name implied, a hallway containing a series of windows providing a bird’s eye view of the private bedrooms below. It was the perfect venue to indulge in voyeuristic tendencies, Severus thought.

Severus found himself drawn to a room with a definite oriental flair. Wearing nothing but decorative combs in his hair and a heavy pendant around his neck, Harry rode a handsome young man, his bare flesh almost as pale as his white facial makeup. Severus could not help but wonder if Harry’s body had ever seen the sun.

“Cedric Diggory,” Lee spoke suddenly. “Star Seeker for the Welsh National team…has a standing date with Phoenix every time Wales wins. Very hush-hush, you know. Can’t have the press discover their sex symbol is into blokes.”

Diggory pushed Harry onto his back and began a renewed conquest of the courtesan’s body, seeking his release. From his vantage point above the bed, Severus watched as Harry’s body rocked back with the impact, his penis absolutely flaccid, showing no interest whatsoever. Harry’s green eyes stared up at the ceiling for a measured moment, before returning his undivided attention to the athlete.

“Are they aware of our presence?”

“No,” Lee replied. “We never know if there is anyone in this space, so we tend to ignore it. Can’t do anything about it anyway…does that surprise you?”

No, Severus thought. Denial was very much a human trait. He was not surprised. Judging from the emptiness he witnessed in Harry’s eyes as he ‘entertained’ Diggory, the Potion Master decided that denial was an acceptable sanctuary for the prostitutes of ‘La Jarretelle Noir’.


	4. Part Four

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~*  
PART FOUR  
“Our strength is often composed of the weakness   
we’re damned if we’re going to show.”  
\- Mignon McLaughlin

~*~*~*~  
Stefan Zabini met Severus for breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Over pots of tea and a traditional English breakfast, they pored over scrolls of Ministry data and a corresponding ring binder of Muggle N.H.S. data.

Severus flipped through the binder. The disparity in the findings between Wizarding and Muggle London was astounding. Did the magic residing within witches and wizards make them less susceptible to sexually transmitted diseases?

“Where did you obtain this data?”

“Healer Smethwyck has a squib cousin…works for the British C.D.C.”

“C.D.C.?”

“Center for Disease Control…monitors everything – including diseases no one has ever heard of…”

“Their data is accurate?”

“A great deal more accurate than our Ministry data. They don’t care what politician they piss off.”

~*~*~*  
Retracing his tour, Severus made his way through the darkened club and opened a door beside the bar. He peered down the deserted hallway. His nose twitched at the faint odor of ginseng. Casting a “Lumos”, he carefully descended the uneven stone steps that led to a potions lab.

The smell of ginseng and other herbs grew more pungent. He could make out the soft flickering glow of torchlight at the end of a narrow corridor. His boot heels echoed hollowly.

“Dean!” an agitated voice called out from the room beyond. “Hurry up, you’re late!”

Severus slipped into the low room. The torchlight illuminated a haze of smoke. A stocky figure stood before a row of cauldrons, his back to the door.

“Put on the gloves and get over here. If I don’t get this strained in the next minute or two, it’s rubbish.”

Severus glanced at a worktable filled with several racks of empty vials and saw a pair of dragon hide gloves. He pulled them on and stepped toward the other man.

“Hold the gauze taut and try not to get…”

Unexpected black robes and unfamiliar hands in his peripheral vision, the potion brewer spun, his hip length chestnut braid swinging like a cat’s tail.

Severus smirked at the horrified expression on the man’s face. “Potion first…introductions later.”

~*~*~*  
Potion stirred three times clockwise, the addition of an infusion of chamomile and fourteen counterclockwise stirs later, Ris lowered the flame on his Remedium salve.

A blush colored the younger man’s cheeks as he saw the unreadable expression of the gentleman he had ordered about as if he were a servant. Ris dropped submissively to his knees. He waited for a blow or a curse that did not come.

“Severus Snape, Potion Master.” Severus deliberately removed the dragon hide gloves and returned them to the workbench. Behind small, rectangular-shaped spectacles, green eyes widened in recognition of the name.

“Master Snape…I…” the slightly overweight man sputtered. Severus held his hand up to forestall a needless apology. When brewing, sometimes you just needed a second pair of hands and it did not matter if the hands belonged to a potion master or a house elf.

“Get up and tend to your potions,” Severus ordered. Having spent a lifetime in the presence of purebloods who thought he should lie prostrate before them, Severus despised the custom. “I was told I could find a potion brewer by the name of Ris. Are you he?”

Ris glanced once at his simmering potion before speaking. He smoothed his hands on his tailored brewer’s robe. “I am Ris, sir. I was home schooled and learned to brew by trial and error. If…if you are in need of the talents of a certified Potion Master, I am sure the hotel concierge could locate several suitable candidates…we are not far from St. Mungo’s Hospital.”

Severus took in the primitive conditions of the workroom. The collection of cauldrons and instruments was meager, but well cared for. There was a bare minimum of potion ingredients in a cabinet. Handwritten notations were scrawled in the margins of a battered book.

Ris dipped a stirring rod into the cauldron and pulled it out, examining the viscosity of the solution that dripped from the rod. His eyes flickered toward the Potion Master; he knew the salve was not as deep a blue as it should be, but he had been forced to replace fresh chamomile blossoms with a dried counterpart.

“You brew for the hotel?”

“No,” Ris replied softly. “The hotel purchases their potions from reputable potion masters and apothecaries.”

“You being disreputable?” Severus’ voice carried no malice.

Ris gave Severus a wry smile. “I am anything but reputable.”

“Reputations can be deceiving.”

“In a society where social standing is derived from blood and family I am devoid of both…I brew the Ministry mandated potions for the gentlemen’s clubs of Diagon Alley and the brothels of Knockturn Alley because no one else will.”

~*~*~*  
“I have my doubts that Mr. Blott even realizes that Phoenix is not a woman.” Padma commented to her identical twin; Parvati giggled. With the professional Quidditch teams and their fans attending games in Wales, ‘La Jarretelle Noir’ was momentarily quiet.

Harry was in a private corner of the club sharing a sherry with an ancient wizard who kept patting his hand as he carried on a lively conversation.

“I think he’s sweet,” her twin replied. “Even if he is a bit addled in the head.”

The club’s entertainers looked up as Severus entered the room, a basket of carefully wrapped and labeled blood samples in his hands. The prostitutes smiled at the dour wizard in greeting, and he acknowledged them politely. Even though Lord Malfoy had given his friend carte blanche, the Potion Master not only treated them all with respect, he had so far declined any and all sexual favors.

~*~*~*  
When Severus completed his tests on his blood samples, he properly disposed of the vials and their contents. Blood could be used in many of the darker potions and could also be used to enslave the donor. The prostitutes who had “donated” the blood samples, most under duress, had already been sold into sexual servitude. He would do nothing to further endanger their existence.

~*~*~*  
Research tallied, Severus decided to go to the club for a glass of wine before retiring. The lower dance floor was crowded, filled with witches and wizards dancing suggestively to a driving beat. Winding his way through the dancers, he climbed the staircase to a broad landing where he had an unrestricted view of the dancers. The music wafting around him was now a soft jazz.

Severus turned when a thin hand rested on his sleeve. Harry stood beside him, resplendent in red and gold.

“Your research goes well, Master Snape?”

“It is progressing.”

“May I ask a favor of you?” Severus fought back a shiver as the oiran’s warm breath tickled his ear. “When you collect samples from Knockturn Alley, take Marcus with you.”

“Marcus?”

The Phoenix pointed toward the thickset bouncer at the door. Marcus Flint was scowling at a pair of undesirable wizards, denying them entrance to the adult-themed nightclub.

“You think me incapable of defending myself?” Severus’ voice held a dangerous edge.

Harry smiled seductively, dispelling the irritation. “I think anyone would be a fool to attack the Dark Lord’s Potion Master, but your attention will be occupied with procurement of your blood samples…and many of those bottom feeders are desperate. If not Marcus, take Dean or Seamus. You must see the wisdom in having someone watch your back.”

As much as Severus doubted anyone would be foolish enough to attack him, the young man’s concern was not unwarranted.

“I will give your suggestion consideration.”

An altercation on the dance floor drew their attention. Pushing, shoving and a few hexes and fists were thrown before Marcus and another burly wizard broke up the fray. In the center of the melee was Draco Malfoy.

The white blond wizard straightened his elaborate robes angrily and his pale grey eyes glowed malevolently. A wizard Severus thought looked vaguely familiar clutched Draco’s arm, but he shoved him vehemently away. His eyes darted about the room as if expecting an attack.

The pale grey eyes widened minutely as he saw his father’s precious Phoenix standing beside his father’s pet Potion Master. Draco stalked up the staircase, stopping in front of the pair. Harry’s hand tightened its grip on Severus’ arm. Nervously, Harry pulled out his fan from the knot in his obi and flicked it open.

The sight of the fan seemed to incense the young wizard. He tore Harry away from Severus’ side, causing the oiran to teeter on the high geta. Draco snatched the antique decorative fan and flung it down the staircase.

“I don’t give a damn what name is written on the ribs of your fan. They’ll just have to find another whore to fuck…You belong to me!”

Harry stumbled over the cumbersome geta and the trailing silks as he was practically thrown up the staircase. Kimono hem caught beneath the base of the geta, he fell to his hands and knees. Draco jerked him to his feet.

“If you were the next on his dance card, Sev, you can fuck what’s left of him in an hour.”  
Draco barked a cruel laugh as he forcibly dragged Harry into one of the private rooms. 

“He’s such an arse,” Marcus muttered under his breath as he carefully picked up the shattered remains of the fan. In disgust, he stared at the Potion Master on the landing. He had thought the wizard was half-decent, but he was just another arsehole who catered to the whims of the Ice Prince.

Marcus’ eyes flickered to the entrance of the viewing chamber and then looked abruptly away.

~*~*~*  
Harry had barely slipped out of his geta before he was bodily flung onto the bed.

“Vinculum.” Draco’s wand swished and Harry found his wrists bound to the headboard. He tugged at the fetters, but they held fast. As Draco leaned over him to unfasten the obi, Harry turned his face away. The blond wizard laughed.

“You don’t need to turn away, Pet. I’m certainly not going to kiss you. No one ever kisses a whore.”

Tired of fumbling with the crimson obi, Draco sliced the elaborate knot off with a severing curse, effectively destroying the brocade length. His manicured hands tore open the costume, exposing Harry’s nude body beneath.

Draco Accioed a foil wrapped condom from a decorative bowl beside the bed. He rolled the latex expertly up his engorged member.

The pendant at Harry’s throat caught Draco’s attention and the dark wizard seemed to freeze for a moment. He picked up the angel pendant, shuddered, and let the cherub fall back to Harry’s chest. “I can’t believe you still wear that thing…You know, Harry, you truly are one sick fuck.”

Harry did not reply, not even when Draco flipped him over to his stomach, his arms crossed painfully, wrists still bound to the headboard. The wizard tugged Harry’s hips up, pulling him up to his knees. The kimono was flipped up over his head, leaving him bare from the waist down. 

With absolutely no regard for Harry’s comfort or wellbeing, Draco pushed roughly into Harry, pulled out and then buried himself to the root. Wrists bound and his arms bent at an impossible angle, Harry could not brace himself in any way. Draco’s strong fingers dug into his hips, keeping him from moving as the blond pistoned into him.

~*~*~*~  
Marcus wanted to ignore Severus who standing beside him in the Viewing Chamber. As they watched Draco reach his completion in the room below, Marcus glared at the silent potion master; his tongue ran over his snaggled teeth before he spoke.

“You have your choice of all the bitches in ‘La Noir’, even Phoenix, but you haven’t taken advantage of Lord Malfoy’s hospitality. They are the best the alley has to offer. Are they not good enough for you? Or are you the kind that just likes to watch?”

Severus looked coolly down his large nose, impressed when the bouncer did not flinch. He could have justifiably hexed Marcus for his impertinence, but he did not. In a perverse way, Marcus was defending the prostitutes he protected.

“I do not engage in casual fornication, nor do lower myself to voyeurism. Draco is a sadistic little worm. Someone must ensure he does not descend too far into excess.”

Below them, Draco fastened his cloak pin and stalked from the room in a swirl of fabric, leaving Harry still tied to the bed in a twisted heap, his bare buttocks up in the air and the remains of a used condom dripping down his calf where Draco had tossed it. Harry pulled at the bindings, maneuvering his body enough to shake the kimono off his face and back down over his hips, preserving what little modesty he still had in that ridiculous position.

“Draco has absolutely no finesse,” Severus commented and Marcus snorted beside him. “One of us should go untie him before he loses all circulation in his arms.”

“I think he would be less embarrassed if it were me, sir. Leave Phoenix a little dignity.”

But before either wizard could move, the door to the room below opened. Severus recognized Stefan Zabini’s grandson, Blaise.

“What in Merlin’s name is he doing here?”


	5. Part Five

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~*~  
PART FIVE   
“Life has meaning only if one barters it day by day  
for something other than itself.”  
\- Antoine de Saint-Exupery

~*~*~*~  
Shutting the door behind him, Blaise Zabini smirked at Harry’s ungainly position, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Well well…not exactly your best feature, Scary.”

“Piss off,” Harry retorted.

Blaise laughed. Pulling a dagger from his boot, he carefully sliced one of the cords. Physically turning Harry, he untangled his arms before slicing the second fetter. With a casual motion, he pulled the length of kimono fabric across Harry’s lap and tucked it under one hip.

“Thanks, Zabini. What are you doing here anyway?”

“It’s Friday night. I’m trolling the clubs and trying to keep Draco out of trouble…where else would I be?” Blaise plucked a fragment of the damaged obi off the floor. “Destructive little bastard, isn’t he?”

Harry winced slightly as he climbed out of the bed. He held the kimono closed with one hand.

“Accio obi.” He cast wandlessly and the segments of severed obi floated into his hands. “Reparo.”

“Do you even own a wand?” Blaise asked as the fabric rewove itself back together.

Harry looked up from settling the obi around his torso. “Yeah. I have a willow one in my room…used to be my mum’s.”

~*~*~*  
Severus climbed down the uneven steps into the lower reaches of the hotel. The music of the Weird Sisters echoed down the empty hallway.

The music grew louder as the Potion Master approached the workroom; Ris sang along slightly off-key. From the doorway he watched the brewer bounce to the rhythm, his hips swaying as he stirred a potion. The song ended and the Wizarding Wireless announcer chattered for a few moments before playing another song. Ris sprinkled a handful of pale blue flowers into his cauldron.

Severus’ nostrils twitched and his eyes watered as the overpowering odor of the potion hit him. Blinking back the tears, he focused once again as Ris swayed seductively to a love song, long braid moving in a sensual arc.

An overwhelming need coursed through Severus; he reached out, catching the braid in mid sway. Having not heard anyone over the music, Ris jumped, surprise evident on his face.

“Master Sn…”

Fingers curling tightly into the chestnut hair, Severus pulled the younger man toward him. He could see a faint spattering of freckles across the pale cheeks. He kissed the row of three freckles that decorated the bridge of Ris’ nose. His lips and teeth explored the brewer’s throat and jaw. At Ris’ sharp intake of breath, Severus claimed the smaller wizard’s mouth. Severus devoured Ris, his tongue demanding entrance.

Severus’ hands were not idle. He ran them over the brewer’s soft form, fingers working loose the tailored robes. Nipping and kissing, Severus marked the soft flesh, his fingers caressing the pale skin. Pushing aside a pendent of an angel, Severus latched onto a nipple, his teeth tugging playfully with the nub.

“Oh, Sweet Morgana.”

Ris ran his fingers through Severus’ fine black hair, trying to keep his footing on the uneven stone floor as the older man continued the exploration of his body. Brewer’s robes unbuttoned to the waist, Severus snaked a hand into the opening and wrapped it around Ris’ hips.

“Not here,” Ris breathed heavily as he took a step backward towards the door. Severus grunted in agreement; he was so hard he thought he would explode.

“We need to leave this room.”

Breath warm against his throat, Severus agreed, pushing Ris through the door and into the hallway.

“I can’t wait.” Severus pinned Ris to the wall, pulling the other man’s robes off one shoulder.

“Stop!” Ris panted. “Please stop, sir. Take a deep breath.”

Stop? Severus thought. No, he did not want to stop. He inhaled the cool air of the hallway and his mind began to awaken as if from a fog. He stumbled backward, his eyes staring incomprehensively at the young man he had nearly stripped.

Ris touched his own kiss-swollen lips and stared back with wide green eyes.

“Aphrodisiacs and lust potions.” His pink tongue darted out, licking his swollen lower lip. “You must have come in just as I added the sea holly.”

Severus blinked his dark eyes, mind finally clearing the last of the cobwebs. A European coastal herb of the genus Eryngium (E. Martimum), the Sea Holly had spiny leaves and pale blue flowers; it was historically used as an aphrodisiac.

Ris gave a nervous smile as he rebuttoned his robe. He tucked the angel pendant under his robes. This was an extremely awkward moment.

Severus cleared his throat. “I will be speaking with Lord Malfoy.”

The green eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, please, sir. Please don’t bother Lord Malfoy. It’s all my fault. I should have posted a sign as a warning….but only Dean and Seamus usually come down here and they know to stay away when I brew aphrodisia…I…I’m desensitized to it…I…”

Severus rested a hand on the agitated brewer’s shoulder. “I will speak to Lucius about adequate ventilation. You should not be forced to brew in such a toxic environment.”

He cupped Ris’ chin in one hand, marveling at the lack of stubble. “Perhaps I should thank you. If you had not had the foresight to get us out of that room, I would have raped you.”

~*~*~*  
Severus skimmed over his complimentary copy of The Daily Prophet as he ate a light breakfast of scones and fruit. The only information even worth noting was that Wales had beaten the English Quidditch team again 270 – 40. How anyone could waste a knut on the reprehensible rag he would never understand.

The waiter dropped off a small roll of parchment with his fresh pot of tea. Severus did not recognize the handwriting.

“Master Snape,

Contraceptives and Revitalizing Potions are on the schedule this morning. Baring the unlikely event of an exploding cauldron, there should be no toxic fumes.

Master Jigger will arrive Sunday at 10:00 to sign off on the potions; he will be able to answer any questions you may have.

Ris”

~*~*~*~  
On Saturday morning, a female voice singing a sad Celtic folk song accompanied the brewing. Ris carefully measured doses of a turquoise liquid into four vials from a small cauldron. Beside him, two racks filled with an aqua potion were waiting to be sealed.

“No bouncing around this morning?” Severus asked from the doorway.

Ris measured the last drop of potion into the final vial. He tapped it gently to release an air bubble before he placed it beside its three brothers. He seemed to be in an exceptionally pensive mood.

“While sea holly makes most wizards randy, it just makes me silly.”

Ris motioned Severus toward a tall stool as he continued his work. Dipping a tiny glass stopper into a dish of molten paraffin wax, he proceeded to cover the glass tip with a thin coating of wax before inserting it into a waiting vial.

The woman’s voice began to lament dead lovers as Ris continued sealing all of the vials except one. Severus picked up the small cauldron and gave it a delicate sniff. He lifted one of the turquoise vials up to the lamplight and then held one of the aqua vials beside it for comparison.

“Contraceptive potions…” Severus stated, but held up the darker vial. “But these are a different formula.”

Ris tested the contents of the open vial on the tip of his tongue, letting the solution rest a moment before downing the remaining liquid. He did not cringe at the bitter taste.

“Male contraceptives. Dennis at Bourgin’s Dollhouse is a bearer and Kim at Burke’s Pleasure Palace is a fully functioning hermaphrodite. The third vial is for Master Jigger to test.”

“Do you always sample your own potions as well?” Severus asked.

Ris clutched the angel pendant in his fist for a moment before smiling sadly. “I always brew an extra dose of the contraceptive potion for myself on Lord Malfoy’s orders. I am also a bearer.”

~*~*~*  
Severus heard the effected accent of Aristotle Ambrosias Jigger as he approached Ris’ workroom Sunday morning. The Potion Master halted just beyond the door, out of sight of the room’s occupants. He slipped his wand from his wand holster.

“What did you tell Zabini and Snape?” Jigger shouted. “They are questioning my involvement in the potion brewing…”

“I didn’t say…”

“That Healer just about accused me of fraud. They are going to launch an investigation by the Ministry.”

If the young man replied, it was too soft to make out from the hallway.

“I trusted you, you little bitch!”

Severus heard a crashing sound and Ris shouted in alarm as the echo of metal clattered to the stone floor. A brass cauldron rolled out the open doorway and hit the facing wall, the now destroyed contents coating the floor in a steaming stream. The sound of shattering glass followed.

“Stop it!” Ris ordered, panicked. “Master Snape came down here looking for a potion master…looking for you. I am not a potion master and I am not your apprentice. What did you expect me to tell him?”

Another heavy cauldron hit the floor.

“I don’t give a fuck what he wanted…you should have lied to him…now I am facing an inquiry…you’re going to pay for damaging my reputation, you two-knut whore.”

“What reputation?” Ris spat, placing his body between the irrational Jigger and his remaining cauldron. “You can’t even successfully brew a Cheering Potion. If you could you wouldn’t need me to do your brewing.”

Severus decided he had heard enough. As he entered the workroom he saw Ris wrestling with the much larger wizard, trying to rescue a rack of bottled potions from the crazed man’s hands. Jigger lunged, tossing the rack as he approached.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Ris shouted. The rack of vials hovered just off the floor.

“How the fuck did you do that without a wand?” Jigger reached for the brewer.

“Stupefy!” Severus barked.

~*~*~*~  
The Potion Master retrieved the cauldron from the hall. Although still warm, it had cooled enough to pick up. The unmistakable odor of alcohol struck his nostrils – a tincture. None of the mandated potions called for such a solution; with the cloying stench of destroyed potions and spilled ingredients emanating from the workroom, Severus could not identify exactly what manner of tincture he held in his hands.

Ris stirred one of his surviving potions counterclockwise nine times before lowering the flame. He picked up the remains of a shattered mortar and pestle, dropping them into a waste bin in the corner. While a Reparo charm would repair the surface damage, nothing could truly repair the integrity of the ceramic.

Severus stepped carefully through the debris, his sharp eyes cataloging everything. While he had noticed the sparse supplies in the room, he had never truly considered the actual contents. A neat shelf of glass containers held unidentifiable organic materials in various degrees of decay floating in a watery suspension. He did not recall infusions being used in the Ministry-mandated potions either.

He thought back to the first day he had met the young brewer. Severus remembered the gauze and the dragon hide gloves. Ris had been straining infusions. A thought niggled at the back of his brain.

The young man refused to look at Severus as he picked through his destroyed workroom, determining what could be salvaged. Kneeling on the hard cold floor, Ris held up a vial to the torchlight and discarded it when he detected a crack in the glass. Days of brewing had gone for naught.

“Why tinctures and infusions?” Severus asked casually, his finger resting on a neatly printed label adhered to a jar of sludge.

Ris stood up from his crouching position, a resigned expression on his round face. “I had wondered when you would notice them.”

“They are common enough in medicinal brewing, but…”

Ris reached into an open box on the floor, scooping out a handful of plant matter. He emptied his fist over Severus’ open palm. Severus stared at the desiccated remains of an herb. “What is this shite?”

Ris’ green eyes flickered toward the still-unconscious Jigger. “According to Master Jigger, you are holding fresh chamomile blossoms.”

The tinctures and infusions suddenly made sense. Even a first year Potion student knew that fresh and dried herbs held vastly different brewing properties. By using these solutions, Ris was trying to compensate for the lack of fresh herbs.

Chamomile was a fairly inexpensive ingredient and the Remedium Salve required a substantial quantity of it. Any reputable brewer would have used fresh chamomile, not the complicated chemical soup Ris was forced to create. And this was only the chamomile. What was the state of the remaining ingredients Ris used?

One minor variation in the brewing of a potion could turn it into a placebo or a poison. The integrity of all of the Diagon/Knockturn potions was now suspect. Then again, perhaps the surprising good health of the prostitutes resulted from the desperate compromises Ris had been forced to make in his brews.

Severus glared at the still-stunned Jigger. What a waste of flesh, he thought. Aristotle Jigger was guilty of a crime more severe than defrauding the Ministry. He had masqueraded as a Potion Master – and a Potion Master was bound by the same Hippocratic Oath sworn by Healers – “First do no harm.”

And was Ris equally culpable? No, Severus decided, the memory of the brewer ingesting a dose of every potion he brewed as it was bottled. The man was his own lab rat. He would not distribute any potion he, himself, was unwilling to ingest. And he would be the only one to die if he brewed a fatal mistake.

Glass crackled beneath his feet and Severus’ growing ire was directed back to the source. Jigger had so casually destroyed an untold number of medicinal portions in a fit of pique. He toed a pile of broken glass and what he thought may have been the Prophylaxis Potion; with an abrupt flick of his wand, he banished the lot into the bin.

“What happens to him?” Ris indicated Jigger.

“I imagine he’ll be brought up on charges for defrauding the Ministry.”

Ris let out an odd liquid sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. He finally looked up to meet Severus’ eyes.

“Well, I guess I’ve been sacked, eh?”

~*~*~*  
Standing in the hall to clear his lungs, Severus leafed through the battered notebook he discovered on Ris’ workbench. He noted the Ministry potion recipes buried beneath a neat scrawl of notations, additions, and deletions, page after page of the notebook were filled with formulas based upon the quality of the provided ingredients and what needed to be added or subtracted to reach the desired strength. 

Ris’ attention was still on the salvage of his potions workroom. Dean had silently joined them, sweeping up the broken glass and ruined supplies. Severus admired their tenacity; a common wizard would have just cast a “Scourgify”, but these two young men were intelligent enough to know that an explosion of magic, however benign, could alter the fragile potions.

With a wave of his wand, Severus duplicated the book’s contents and tucked the replica into a hidden pocket for further research.

Dean placed a final bin full of debris onto a wheeled cart. Ris thanked him; the bellboy disappeared up the hallway.

Severus looked at the rows of surviving potions lined up, and, for the first time, realized something that should have been obvious from the start. The Ministry-mandated potions regimen consisted of the Prophylaxis Potion, the Remedium Salve, and a contraceptive. Three other potions were lined up in the row. One he identified as the aphrodisiac, but the other two were unknown.

Ris seemed to read his thoughts. “I get paid directly for the lust potions. They are a special order. I use the galleons I receive to supplement my potion stores, especially since the herbs Jigger supplies are often absolute rubbish.”

“And these other two – special orders as well?

“No. They are my own addition to the mandated list. No one has ever questioned me.”

Severus’ eyebrow arched.

“Both are extremely dangerous, you know…” Ris smiled at the dour wizard. “One of them is a nutrition potion, the other an antidepressant.”

~*~*~*~  
Ris counted out nine vials of the Remedium potion, eight vials of the aqua contraceptive potion and one vial of the turquoise contraceptive into a basket labeled Burke’s. He counted nine vials of the Prophylaxis potion from a dwindling supply in the rack.

Severus looked over his shoulder, noting this was the last brothel on the list. Five other baskets were lined up, each with the name of a brothel and differing amounts of potions, depending upon how many prostitutes served each establishment.

“Seven to spare,” Severus commented. “Just enough.”

“No,” Ris replied slowly. “I am seventeen shy.”

“For the street whores.” Severus’ voice was very soft. It was phrased as a comment, not as a question.

“Yes,” Ris admitted with a touch of defiance in his voice. “They are the most at risk…they cannot even insist that their clients use condoms. Jigger wasn’t involved in that. He didn’t even realize I brewed double of everything. 

Ris sank to the floor, his back against the wall, defeat clearly shown in his position.

“Damn him to the nine hells….he’s ruined everything.”


	6. Part Six

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~*  
PART SIX  
“Life consists not in holding good cards  
but in playing those you hold well.”  
\- Josh Billings  
~*~*~*

Harry sat on the edge of his narrow bed and looked at his unadorned face. The mirror was hung low on the wall, above the thin shelf that held his powders, rouges and eyeliner. He ran his fingers through his short, tousled brunet hair.

The ornately decorated Katsura was placed securely on the wig stand designed especially for the hairpiece, waiting for The Phoenix to charm his audience in several hours.

Harry re-read the small square of parchment requesting his presence in Master Snape’s suite of rooms. Within the short missive was a politely phrased demand that he appear as himself, not as an oiran. Harry’s teeth worried his lower lip; he had hidden beneath the painted mask for years. The damned Potion Master was tearing away his safety net.

Green eyes flickered over to a clock and Harry smirked. Someone. Lee he suspected, had charmed the hands of the clock to read “Time to Get Fucked”. Harry fingered the edge of the invitation and wondered why his stomach clenched at the thought of entertaining Master Snape in his rooms.

It was a sense of betrayal, Harry realized. The Potion Master had been a resident guest for nearly a fortnight, never once availing himself of the sexual delights offered by the entertainers of “La Jaratelle Noir”. He had always treated them with respect and consideration and spoke with them as if they were equals, not sex toys far beneath his station.

Harry shook his head to clear the insane thoughts from his mind. He slipped on a simple silk kimono over a plain underslip. He hoped the man would not be angry; his closet held only costumes. None of the entertainers were permitted conventional street clothing – it reduced flight risk.

The young man slipped his tabi clad feet into a pair of geta with a base much lower than those he wore in costume. He straightened his posture and cleared his muddled mind. He should feel honored that he alone had been chosen to service the Dark Lord’s Potion Master.

Why did he feel so disappointed?

~*~*~*~  
Upon hearing the expected rap on his door, Severus set aside his book and rose from his chair. He was not exactly certain why he had demanded The Phoenix to appear without his costume. He, himself, rarely removed his own mask for anyone.

The first thing the Potion Master noted upon seeing Harry at his doorstep was that the skin tone of the young man’s face was only a shade or two darker than the stark white makeup he usually wore. Then he noticed that he had to look down to meet the almond-shaped eyes. Without the impossibly high wooden base of his usual geta, Harry could easily be tucked beneath Severus’ chin. The short, spiky hair was not quite unexpected; Severus supposed wearing the elaborate wig all the time had to be hot and uncomfortable. It was a wonder Harry had not shaved his head.

Severus guided Harry into his rooms with a hand at his elbow. “Join me for tea.”

~*~*~*  
Harry was slightly amused and totally perplexed as he nibbled on a cucumber sandwich. He watched the Potion Master through his thick dark eyelashes and wondered what was going through the older man’s mind.

Throughout their brief acquaintance, Harry had found Severus to be cautious and methodical so he was not surprised that Severus did not toss him onto the bed and breach him the moment he entered the guest suite, but sitting down and having tea like gentlemen was totally unexpected.

They exchanged minor pleasantries over the light repast; Harry wondered why Severus was going through the civilized motions. Surely the man did not think he would need to woo him to bed him. Severus knew what Harry was, knew Lord Malfoy had given him carte blanche. Harry was already bought and paid for. The older wizard’s actions were disconcerting.

When Harry’s eyes drifted to the neatly made bed in the next room Severus’ larger hand settled on his. Harry looked up, his gaze resting on the wizard’s plain face. The intelligent dark eyes examined him.

“I did not invite you to my room to engage you in carnal pleasures. I merely wished to have an uninterrupted conversation with you.”

~*~*~*~  
Severus studied Harry’s unadorned face. In the skillfully applied make-up, Harry was an exotic beauty, but he decided he liked the freshly scrubbed Harry much better. There was no trace of beard on the angular jaw line; Severus supposed it had been permanently removed with a depilatory charm years before. A few days in the sun would soon return the unnaturally pale skin to a healthy glow. Severus smiled when noticed the nearly transparent spattering of freckles on Harry’s cheeks and nose.

Harry set down his tea cup and pushed slightly back from the table. He folded his hands into his lap and waited. The men he interacted with on a daily basis were always predictable, but Severus was not following any known script.

“Are you finished?” Severus placed his napkin beside his plate.

“Yes, Master Snape.”

Severus banished the contents of the table to a teacart tucked into a corner of the room. He reached down to an open satchel nestled at his feet and plucked out a battered leather notebook and a roll of parchment. Harry was mildly surprised to see him retrieve a Muggle fountain pen from a hidden pocket. Severus opened the notebook to the next empty page and met Harry’s eyes, the fountain pen poised to add ink to paper.

“When do you begin brewing the next batch of Ministry regulated potions?”

Harry tilted his head, his eyelashes fluttered. “I…I don’t brew the potions. Ris does…or did….since Master Jigger sacked him, I do not know if there will even be a next brewing of potions.”

“Arsenius Jigger was most disturbed to discover his nephew was defrauding the Ministry of Magic. He is especially concerned with the damage a scandal could cause his business. His partner, Armond Slug, is replacing Aristotle as the Potion Master of Record with the Ministry. I sent him several sample potions to test. He was quite pleased with the skills of their current brewer and wishes to retain his services. Jigger and Slug will supply you both the raw materials and a workroom in which to brew the next phase. They await your owl with a list of supplies and a schedule.”

“I will pass the message on to Ris. I am sure he will be pleased to hear he is not being replaced. But Lord Malfoy will need to be notified; I do not think he will permit Ris to leave the premises.”

“Do you always refer to yourself in the third person?” Severus inquired, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Pardon me?”

“Do not play me for a fool. The potions have been a gift from you.”

Harry licked his lower lip and smiled nervously. “Okay…it was my idea, but Ris brews the potions. I don’t know the first thing about potions. I am only a whore.”

Severus merely arched an eyebrow. Harry was a very good actor, but a minute flicker in the eyes reinforced the older wizard’s belief that the courtesan was involved in a greater deception. 

Harry plucked at a wayward spike of his hair. “How can you possibly think we are the same person? He has red hair down past his arse and he outweighs me by at least two or three stone.”

“Do you practice an elaborate glamour or are you a Metamorphmagus?”

Harry stood up. His expression revealed no emotion. “You have clearly been working too hard, Master Snape, and your exhaustion has caused hallucinations. We have had tea and we have had conversation. You have expressed no intention of engaging in intercourse. This appointment has concluded. If I do not see you before your departure after the Vingt Premierment, I wish you a pleasant journey.”

Harry took one step toward the door before he found himself jerked backward over the curve of the loveseat and sprawled rather awkwardly in Severus’ lap. The young man struggled to regain his composure and to remove himself from his perch atop the Potion Master.

“Sit,” Severus snapped; his smile feral. Harry sat stiffly beside him, his kimono disheveled. “In the end, it doesn’t really matter how you maintain your disguise. It is a very clever ruse. How many others are party to your deception?”

“Only Lord Malfoy and he…” Harry’s voice faltered. “And he will punish me when he…”

“Learns I have discovered your duplicity?”

“Learns I have broken my vow with him. When I began appearing as The Phoenix, it was on the explicit orders that no pureblood witch or wizard ever see the man behind the illusion of the oiran. If I am fortunate, he will only have me beaten or hexed, but he is within his rights to dissolve my contract and abandon me to the bottom feeders of Knockturn.”

Severus cupped one hand behind Harry’s back and leaned forward to whisper into the frightened man’s ear. “You have broken no vow. My father was a Muggle.”


	7. Part Seven

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~*~  
PART SEVEN  
“Unbeing dead isn’t being alive.”  
\- e.e. cummings  
~*~*~*~

Harry stepped out of his geta and tucked his tabi-clad feet beneath him. It struck Severus as an oddly feminine maneuver. Green eyes looked earnestly at him.

“I arrived at ‘La Jaratelle Noir’ shortly after I turned seventeen and I will turn twenty-one at the end of July. In all that time, no one has ever discovered that Ris and Harry are one in the same. You have been here less than a fortnight…What did I do to give myself away?”

“I would imagine that very few witches and wizards, including the staff, would have much direct contact with Ris and those few are highly unlikely to be in the social strata to be entertained by The Phoenix. Had I not been sent to investigate the mysterious good health of Knockturn Alley prostitutes, I would have arrived merely to attend Draco’s fete and probably never would have met either of you.”

“Dean and Seamus know both of us, but they think that we are brothers.”

“That notion had crossed my mind as well because siblings often share similar characteristics…but both of you had an odd little quirk, and even identical twins are not mirror images of one another. I asked you to visit me without make-up to confirm my suspicions.”

“How? Ris and Harry do not look alike. I made sure of that.”

Severus’ left forefinger tapped the freckles on the bridge of Harry’s nose.

“Freckles are like fingerprints – no two are alike. A minor detail most would never notice…but what I do not understand is why you felt the need for the deception in the first place.”

Harry’s fingers wrapped around the heavy angel pendant; his eyes were sad. “When the Ministry mandated that the entertainers had to ingest a regimen of protective potions, the contract was awarded to Aristotle Jigger. He is a rank amateur brewer and the potions made us all sick…one of the cage dancers at Bourgin’s Playhouse died. As The Phoenix, I asked Jigger to let me brew the potions in his stead but he laughed at me…called me a deluded whore.” Harry’s fingers gently rubbed the feathers carved into the angel’s wings. “So Ris was born.”

“And how did Lord Malfoy get involved?”

Harry stood up, slipping his feet into his geta. He straightened the kimono and smoothed it with his hands. The young man squared his shoulders. “Lord Malfoy holds my contract. Once I explained to him my reasoning, he agreed to look the other way.”

No matter how prized an entertainer Phoenix was in the Diagon Alley Gentleman’s Club circuit, Severus knew Lucius and it was unheard of for the man to actually own a prostitute. And Harry/Ris was too educated to be a common halfblood. Severus knew he was missing an important element.

“How long has Lucius held your contact?”

“When I was ten my Uncle Remmie and I were captured. Remmie was tortured and beheaded simply because he was a werewolf. The Dark Lord’s Executioner, Walden Macnair wanted to…to play with me before he killed me, but Lord Malfoy stepped in. I became bound Companion to his son, Draconis.”

“Why have I never heard of you before?”

“I don’t know.”

Severus nodded slowly. As his son’s Companion, Lucius would have spared no expense on Harry’s education. “If you are Draco’s Companion, what the hell are you doing in a dollhouse?”

“I…no…” Harry faltered, shaking his head, indicating he could not respond. His hand rose to grasp the pendant, but Severus blocked the movement.

“When you are uncomfortable, you caress the wings of your angel. A calming gesture, I am sure – much like an infant with a lovey. It is how I began to suspect that you and Ris were one and the same.”

Severus scooped the heavy pendant in the palm of his hand to better examine it. The bauble pulsed with a strange, Dark magic. Startled, Severus’ dark eyes locked with the brighter green pair and he found himself pulled into a memory.

~*~*~*~*  
June 1996

Harry stood at his open bedroom window, watching the house elves and non-pureblood gardeners working on the gardens and mazes scattered throughout Malfoy Manor. The nearly seventeen year old rested his hand on the gentle swell of his abdomen. He smiled as he felt the flutter of movement in his womb.

The five month old fetus was restless; she must be reacting to his own state of nervousness, he thought. He had never expected to be pregnant at sixteen; had he known he was a bearer, he would have taken precautions. Although unplanned and unexpected, Harry did so want this child.

“Hello, Pet,” a voice purred from the doorway. “I’ve missed you.”

Harry spun in surprise. Draco Malfoy leaned against the door frame in a provocative, yet threatening pose.

“What…what are you doing here?” Harry sputtered. “Lord and Lady Malfoy just left for King’s Cross Station to collect you.”

Draco’s smile was predatory. “I know. I wanted to resolve a few minor issues with my Companion without the interference of my father.”

“But how did you get here?”

“Apparation, you little twit. Hogwart’s Graduating Class of 1996...beyond the Ministry’s underage decrees…” Draco stepped into the bedroom, locking and warding the door with a sharp flick of his wand. “I apparated from a compartment on the Hogwarts Express just prior to departure and after waiting until I was certain my parents had gone.”

Draco’s smile was cold. “Stop cowering at the window and show me how much you missed me.”

Harry took a tentative step toward the Malfoy heir. He was always cautious around the arrogant blond. The spoiled wizard was prone to bouts of brutality.

“Show me.” The young lord demanded. “Now.”

“Show you? What do you mean?”

The open palm stung against Harry’s pale cheek. He blinked back the sudden tears, knowing that Draco had meant the slap only as warning. Strong hands grasped the front of Harry’s lightweight robe. The buttons were violently torn loose from the placket, the small disks pinging as they made contact with the walls, floor and furniture. 

Draco wrenched the damaged robe off the smaller wizard’s shoulders and dropped the ruined garment to the floor. Harry’s hands flew protectively to his abdomen, the rounded bump incongruous to his slender frame.

“When did you plan to tell me you’ve spawned my bastard heir?” Draco hissed.

Harry tried to back up, but found his path blocked by a side chair.

“Not yours…” Harry’s voice was soft. “She’s your father’s…just ask him”

“Liar.”

Draco’s blow to his already reddened cheek sent the young Companion reeling. Several more blows fell in quick succession. Harry huddled to protect the fragile life within him.

Roughly pulled to his feet, Harry stumbled. A stinging slap landed on his right buttock.

“Stop fucking lying to me, Pet. Father has forgotten you’re only a Companion and thinks you’re his son. But even if he dallied with men, he’d never touch you. Malfoys do not tolerate pedophilia.”

“Just ask him…”

“No!” Draco shouted pushing, Harry toward the bed. “I will not be lied to by a halfblood whore who has my father wrapped around his finger!”

Harry jerked free, but perched nervously on the edge of the mattress. Years of living with Draco had taught him that no matter how much he wanted to flee from the angry young man, it was less painful in the long run to acquiesce.

He needed to diffuse Draco’s wrath long enough for Lord Malfoy to return to the Manor.

Harry looked at Draco through his thick eyelashes in what he hoped was a seductive manner. His skin crawled at the idea of the other man touching him. Slowly Harry slid his silk boxers down his thighs to the floor. He leaned back on his elbows.

Draco’s tongue flickered over his bottom lip. There had never had been any affection between them, but from the first fumbling conquest at the age of thirteen, Harry had always been the passive one. The blatant attempt at seduction would have been amusing if Draco did not know it was merely an act of desperation, an attempt at delay.

No matter what fantasy Harry and his father concocted, Draco knew the fetus in the younger man’s belly was his. At Winter Solstice, both young men ingested a series of experimental aphrodisiacs Draco brewed under the unsuspecting nose of Professor Horace Slughorn. Draco held Harry captive in his bed for nearly three days before the potions ran their course. 

Panic flickered in the bright green eyes as Draco loomed over the prone form. He examined the body of his unwanted Companion, thrust upon him by his doting father nearly seven years before. Harry’s hand rested protectively on the swell of his abdomen and Draco’s face twisted. His first-born would not be the issue of a halfblood sired by an unknown wizard and a Mudblood.

Draco climbed onto the bed and straddled Harry’s thighs. He had not disrobed and still wore his traveling cloak. He ran his hands lightly down both of Harry’s arms and wrapped his hands around the thin wrists, bringing them together. Draco’s right hand captured the wrists in a vice like grip.

“Draconis?”

His left hand splayed open on Harry’s abdomen, his fingers feeling the gentle pulse of life beneath them. The fetus fluttered against his palm. 

“An abomination,” his voice was brittle.

“Draco, no!” Harry screamed as the blond pulled his wand from a hidden holster at his wrist. His heart shattered as the wand tip was drawn across the widest part of his beloved bulge.

Draco scrambled off the bearer, not wanting to soil his clothing with the blood and amniotic fluid weeping from the long incision.

Harry’s hands flew to his abdomen, trying to hold the wound closed. He tried wandless healing charms, but a caster cannot heal himself. The tiny life flickered out.

“You fucking bastard!” Harry cursed. “She was your daughter.”

Draco cancelled the locking and silencing charms before re-holstering his wand.

“Don’t mourn, Pet. It was just so much edema.” He replied casually as he strode out of the bedroom, intending to Apparate to King’s Cross Station to meet his parents. He smoothed back his perfect hair as he heard Harry’s fading voice echo down the hallway, calling for a house elf.

“Trillby!”

~*~*~*  
June 2001

Severus was abruptly pushed out of the memory. He could hear Harry trying to catch his breath, a blend of anger and horror etched in his face.

“What in Merlin’s name did you just do to me?”

“Legilimency…when I touched the angel, it sent your mental barriers crashing and opened your mind to me. I had not intended to invade your memories, especially without your consent.”

Draco Malfoy had the reputation of being one of the coldest of Lord Grindlewald’s assassins and now Severus knew why. What frightened the Potion Master was that, at seventeen, Draco was cold hearted enough to cut his unborn child out of the ‘mother’s’ womb. Even worse was the other piece of knowledge he had gleaned from Harry’s mind, at 7:45 p.m. June 5th - the recorded time of his birth - the contract Lucius held on Harry would be transferred into Draco’s name. Given the Malfoy heir’s history, what horrible fate would befall the delightful oiran?

The mantle clock chimed five times. Harry bowed his head slightly.

“I must leave you now, Master Snape. It will take me several hours to become The Phoenix. Thank you very much for the tea and conversation.” Harry’s voice was deliberately polite. He took a step toward the door to the corridor and froze when there was a sharp rap on the heavy oak.

“Severus?” Lucius’ voice called. “Are you in?”

Harry let out a terrified squeak. He could not be discovered in the Potion Master’s rooms without his makeup.

“Go to the bedroom and shut the door.” Severus hissed and firmly pushed the younger halfblood toward the bed chamber. Once he was certain Harry was secreted away, Severus opened the doorway.

“Good evening, Lucius.”

Lucius strode into the suite and made himself comfortable on the loveseat. He knew that Severus would be returning to his home in Cumbria soon and did not know when he would see his dearest friend again. 

His sharp attention to detail did not miss the remains of tea for two stacked on a cart. He smiled. It was good to know that his former companion did not always isolate himself and had actually had a guest for tea.

“Tea for two, Sev?” he teased. “And who was the lucky witch?”

Before Severus could open his mouth to lie, the sound of a flushing lavatory filled the silent room. What in Merlin’s name was Harry thinking? He was supposed to be hiding, not announcing his presence.

His bedroom door opened and Ris emerged, his long chestnut hair tumbling in waves from a high ponytail. The kimono had been transfigured into simple brown robes. Thin metal spectacles glittered in the late afternoon sunlight.

Metamorphmagus, Severus decided, amazed at the swift transformation of Harry to Ris. Schooling his features, he glanced toward Lucius, noticing the narrowing of the man’s pale eyes.

“Lord Malfoy,” Ris greeted his master with the perfect inflection of surprise in his voice. The brewer sank to his knees in submission.

“Ris joined you for tea?” Lucius asked. “What ever did you do to coax him out of his workroom in the middle of the day?”

“He was most reluctant, but I insisted,” Severus lied smoothly. “Due to slight modifications in Ris’ potions, Healer Zabini and I noted several positive abnormalities found only in the Diagon/Knockturn test group. Your brewer has been extremely helpful in answering my questions. I look forward to further correspondence with him in the future.”

Lucius’ hand ghosted over Ris’ face. He petted the brewer’s ashen cheek. “Do not encourage him to overstep his station, Severus. All inquiries must go through Aristotle Jigger.”

“Actually, Luce, Arsenius Jigger and Armond Slug have replaced Aristotle Jigger as the masters on record. They conveyed to me their desire to maintain the status quo and let Ris assume greater control over the project. Slug tested sample potions Ris has brewed and was suitably impressed with your employee’s skill level. Whomever home schooled the lad did an excellent job with him.”

Once he was dismissed, Harry let out a sigh of relief before scurrying to his room located just up the hall from the guest suite. Quickly checking to see that no one was around, he ducked into his tiny bedroom and sank on the bed.

His mind was in turmoil. Lord Malfoy forbade him from ever appearing in public without his oiran whiteface in place. Did the same stipulation also apply to his Ris persona as well?

His master concealed his emotions behind the cold Malfoy mask, but Harry had been around the mercurial wizard long enough to know that the Dark wizard was livid. His hands trembled as he removed his spectacles and placed them in his shelf. Inhaling deeply to calm himself, he morphed back into Harry.

He wondered how long it would be before Lord Malfoy exacted his punishment, for Harry had no delusions that he would escape punishment. He shivered, almost hoping that Lord Malfoy would wait until his ownership transferred to his son. Draco was a known quantity; his appetites ran to physical and sexual violence. But Lucius Malfoy never gave in to base desires; intelligent and cunning, his vengeance was always far more creative. Fear settled like a rock in Harry’s stomach.


	8. Part Eight

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~*~  
PART EIGHT  
~*~*~*~  
“Matter will be damaged in direct proportion to its value.”  
\- Murphy’s Law

The Phoenix stood on the terrace, the wind rippling the layers silk kimonos. His fingers wrapped around the angel pendant, feeling the deliberate pattern engraved in the wings. The oiran looked up into the night sky, the street lights of Muggle London obscuring all but the moon.

“I miss the stars,” he thought and tried to shake his melancholy mood. The entertainers had been notified that Wales had once again beaten the English team, this time winning the Quidditch Championship. The “Noir” would soon be filled with Quidditch fans – some celebrating the Welsh victory, others drowning their sorrows at the English loss.

Harry did not need to look at the appointments marked on the spines of his fan to know he would soon be servicing Cedric Diggory.

~*~*~*  
Lucius looked up as Severus joined him at a quiet table tucked in the corner of the Gentleman’s Club. The first floor of ‘La Jarattelle Noir’ was packed with Quidditch fans and young witches and wizards out for a night on the town. Severus was glad the muffling charms enveloping the Gentleman’s Club absorbed the driving techno beat of the dance floor below.

“Just the two of us tonight?” Severus inquired as he settled into his chair, back to the wall as was his habit.

“Even if my darling wife would step foot into ‘La Noir’, she is driving Bellatrix and herself mad with seating arrangements for Draco’s fete tomorrow.”

“Do I wish to know what political match Narcissa has dreamed up this time? Or will I be subjected to another possible ‘love’ match?”

Lucius laughed. Narcissa had been trying unsuccessfully for years to find the Potion Master a suitable wife. She refused to believe that any man would willingly choose a life of solitude. So far she had ignored Bellatrix’s exasperated suggestion that Severus might be happier with a wizard.

Surveying the club, Severus could not see The Phoenix or either of the Indian twins anywhere and Lee as Cleopatra was being led from the room by carrot haired twins he remembered vaguely as owners of a Diagon Alley toy shop.

Severus ignored the hum of conversation around him as he perused the extensive wine list. He enjoyed Lucius’ company and the energy of Wizarding London, but he was looking forward to returning to his quiet existence in Cumbria.

As the soup course arrived, a flash of scarlet and gold caught Severus’ eye. The Phoenix emerged from a short hallway followed closely by Cedric Diggory. Harry held a Welsh United team jersey bearing Diggory’s name and number. The seeker smiled when the oiran wished the Welsh team luck in the next rounds leading to the Quidditch World Cup.

Once Diggory left to join his team mates in ‘La Noir’, Harry held up the jersey in bemusement. What in Merlin’s name was he expected to do with a jersey that was stiff and reeking of Diggory’s perspiration?

~*~*~*  
Walden Macnair stood at the bar, his massive frame drawing cautious attention. Even if they were guilty of no crime, wizards often felt uncomfortable in the presence of the Dark Lord’s Executioner and left the man wide berth. Macnair acknowledged Lord Malfoy and the Potion Master with a brusque nod; he was somewhat surprised when a gossamer butterfly of a waitress approached him with an invitation to join the pair.

~*~*~*  
Harry cast a freshening charm and adjusted the elaborate knot on his obi. His makeup, of course, was impeccable, held in place with magic. He straightened an ornamental pin in his lacquered wig and decided he was as ready as he ever would be.

His stomach churned when he read the name of his second and final client for the evening. Walden Macnair. He wanted to refuse, but he knew he could not. Servicing the killer of his beloved Uncle Remmie was Lord Malfoy’s punishment for Harry appearing without his makeup. It was also a not so subtle reminder that Harry owed his very existence to the whims of the Malfoy clan. Harry fought the tears stinging his eyes. It wasn’t fair. Master Snape said he was a halfblood like himself, not a pureblooded wizard. Technically he hadn’t broken his vow at all.

But he was simply a halfblood whore and he would do as the owner of his contract so ordered. Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself. He opened his eyes and smiled seductively at his reflection in the mirror.

He was oiran.

~*~*~*  
Macnair followed Phoenix down a short hallway to a bedroom. He admired the gentle sway of the willowy figure, wondering how anyone could walk in those impossible shoes. Harry gestured the executioner into his assigned room; the sheets already changed from his earlier encounter with Diggory.

Leaning against the closed door, Macnair’s sharp eyes examined his unexpected fortune. He was not an attractive man and his profession made him somewhat of a social pariah; he was used to the coarser whores at Bourgin’s, not the cream of London entertainers. Why had Lucius Malfoy offered him this prize? Lord Malfoy never gave without expecting something in return; Macnair only hoped that in the end the price wouldn’t prove to be too dear.

Harry stood an arm’s length from the man he hated without equal. He wondered if Macnair even remembered Remus Lupin and his cub, or if the incident was lost in years of torture and executions. He hoped with all his heart that the executioner never recognized him as the child he’d threatened to “split wide” nearly eleven years before. It took all of his considerable will not to attack the man.

Macnair felt out of his comfort zone as he considered the silk-clad confection under his command for the next hour. He had no need for the elaborate fantasies spun by the costumed whores at ‘La Noir’. He hated to waste precious time unwrapping this morsel from his cocooned layers of silk and elaborate knots.

~*~*~*  
Severus balked as Lucius led him to the door leading to the Viewing Chamber. He had no desire to witness Harry’s continued degradation.

Lucius’ grip on his elbow tightened. “Get inside, Sev. I need to make sure Macnair does not hurt him.”

“Then you’re eleven years too late,” Severus snapped, but permitted himself be led into the closed chamber. The weight of his wand holster became unbearable as he itched to hex his oldest friend into oblivion.

“What has my beloved Harrison told you?”

“That you contracted him as Draco’s Companion after Macnair murdered his uncle.”

“I promised Lupin I would save his cub.”

“Then why have you whored him to the very man who killed the werewolf?” Severus snarled. “He was Draco’s Companion…a respected profession for a halfblood. You cultivated his intellect with tutors and home schooling, much as your father did for me. Draco violated his trust by taking him to bed and more so when a child was conceived.”

“Draco’s heir could not be born from his Companion. He has been promised since birth to wed the Parkinson’s daughter.”

“You should have quietly aborted the fetus before he became attached to it or you could have sent him to me. Why did you never tell me Draco had a Companion and a potions prodigy at that? I would have been honored to make him my apprentice.”

“When Harrison first came to live with us, you were too tied up in your pursuit of your Mastery. For years it consumed you. You didn’t have time for anyone. You didn’t have time for me. By the time you finally came back into my life, Draco’s Companion was old news.”

Lucius watched Macnair’s rough hands caress Harry’s nude body, wondering had he finally gone past the point of Harry’s forgiveness?

“Harrison was always so bright, so inquisitive…he reminded me a lot of you when you were a child, but he was always more sociable…I am afraid Draconis resented the time I spent with a child he perceived to be a rival.” Lucius paused as Harry crawled on his hands and knees, relieved not to have to look into Harry’s vacant eyes. “They were too close in age…I always took pride in your accomplishments and was mature enough not to be jealous of them. Harrison has been bullied by Draco almost from the moment he arrived at the Manor….It wasn’t until the baby that I realized the depth of Draco’s hatred.”

~*~*~*~  
Macnair’s calloused fingers ran over the oiran’s skin, reveling in the softness. He yanked Harry into place, running his broad hand over the pert buttocks. Jabbing his thick finger into the young man’s puckered opening, Macnair was pleased that the courtesan was already stretched and lubricated. He was extremely well endowed and, although not a particularly considerate lover, took no real pleasure in tearing apart the whores he frequented.

Macnair’s hand slipped down Harry’s taut stomach and curled around the prostitute’s flaccid penis. He teased the recalcitrant flesh as he plunged two fingers into Harry’s opening. 

“Please don’t.” Harry swatted his hand away. “The Ministry mandated potions have rendered it useless. If you require a fully functioning partner, I can bring you one of my associates…”

“It hardly seems fair.” Macnair gave the soft flesh a final gentle squeeze. “Just because you’re usually receiving it’s not fair to render you unable to occasionally deliver as well.”

Harry’s shock at the man’s odd sympathy was quickly replaced by a jolt of pain as the man’s huge erection breached him.

~*~*~*  
Severus stood beside a silent Lucius as they watched Macnair. The Phoenix’s exhausted form hung bonelessly from the executioner’s arms as the man pounded into him. Finally, Macnair grunted out his release and let the younger man slide to the mattress. He plucked a condom from his spent cock, dropping it beside another in a receptacle beside the bed.

When the chime warned him his time had nearly passed, the large man fastened his robes around his frame. He looked down at the done-in whore. Macnair plucked four galleons from his moneybag and tucked them into the small hand, wrapping the thin fingers around the tip. Very few whores could ride him like Malfoy’s prized bitch; too bad he would never be offered another taste.”


	9. Part Nine

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~*  
PART NINE  
“Only those who will risk going too far   
can possibly find out how far one can go.”  
\- T.S. Elliot  
~*~*~*  
The coins slipped from Harry’s fingers as the door snicked shut. He curled into a fetal position as sobs racked his slender frame. Years of pain and anguish surfaced as his protective walls shattered.

Even more than before Severus felt like a pervert, a voyeur feeding from another’s pain. Harry was only a casual acquaintance, but he could not leave the younger man alone in his pain. He stepped away from Lucius and felt his movement roughly restrained.

“Let me go, Luce,” he snarled. “Or I swear to the nine hells that I will blast you across the room.”

“You are not what he needs right now…and neither am I. He is far more damaged than you realize.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“I loved him so much….even more than my own heir…but when it all went to hell I had to choose Draco over him.” Lucius held onto Severus’ upper arms – holding him out at arm’s length. Severus saw more emotion in his friend’s eyes than he had since they were both children.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch Harrison whore himself every day? To know Malfoy ‘honor’ drove him to it…Can you imaging what it feels like to know he wears your murdered grandchild as a charm around his neck?”

Severus recoiled at the statement. He remembered the dark pulse of magic emanating from the silver angel pendant. “Her ashes, you mean?”

“Oh no,” Lucius moaned. “Myrna received no final rites…Harry barricaded himself into his room with his fetus’ corpse. Only Trilby could get in. Trilby healed Harrison and then washed her, wrapped her in a shroud fashioned from lace trimmed handkerchiefs and placed her in a silver trinket box. Harrison cast a stasis spell on her remains and sealed the box, then transfigured the box into the silver angel he wears to this day.”

“But surely once his grief abated…”

Lucius gave a harsh bark of laughter. “As long as Myrna hangs from his neck, he will never heal. And since Draco cut her from his womb with as much emotion as one would to lance a boil…He refuses to have her interred on Malfoy soil for fear Draco will harm her once again.”

“Edema” was the word Draco had used in Harry’s memory, Severus thought, a hateful and incorrect medical descriptive. Pureblood law would never label the death of the five month old fetus as a murder; they would rule Draco totally justified in protecting the purity of his bloodline.

~*~*~*  
Harry’s sobs were quieting, but his body still shook. His breath came in ragged gasps. He knew that he needed to pull himself together, but he just didn’t care anymore.

The bedroom door opened, admitting a concerned Marcus Flint.

“Harry, did Macnair hurt you? Do you need a healing potion?”

Harry keened as he tried to gather control, but his attempt was defeated by a fresh round of tears. Flint dropped beside Harry on the bed. He wrapped his arms around the nude oiran and crooned soothing nonsense.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, his voice still hitching.

“Whatever for?”

“Being a silly whore.”

Flint kissed Harry’s forehead. “You are many things, but you are never silly. Drop the charms on your face and I’ll get a basin of water to clean you up.”

Harry wiped the tears away with the back of his hand and pushed himself up to a sitting position, grimacing at both the cold, damp spot on the sheets and the pain that shot up his spine. With a defiant glare up to the ceiling where he knew the Viewing Chamber was concealed, Harry removed the crushed wig from his head and set it on the table beside him, knowing it would take hours to repair the damage. He retrieved the galleon coins and set them beside the wig.

Flint stepped from behind a decorative screen with a basin of water and a flannel.

Closing his eyes, Harry let Marcus gently wash away the stark white mask, the red eye shadow, black eye liner, red lipstick, and the tears all the while speaking words of comfort. The homely bouncer cast a charm, refilling the basin with clean water and began to give Harry a sponge bath.

Harry knew that this time he was openly flaunting Lord Malfoy’s directive. Although not a particularly powerful or wealthy wizard, Marcus Flint was every inch a pureblood. Harry did not care anymore. On June Fifth his contract would transfer into the control of Draconis Malfoy. Death would be a preferred fate.

When Harry entertained his clients, he kept his libido firmly in check, but he was mentally, physically and emotionally drained. He did not even attempt to raise his shields. As Marcus sponged his pubic area and upper thighs, Harry’s penis gave an interested little quiver. Marcus continued down to Harry’s feet. Marcus tried to ignore the semi erect cock, but Harry’s hand on his growing bulge was impossible to ignore.

“Don’t tease me, Harry.” Flint tried to pull away.

Harry looked at him, his freshly scrubbed face revealing a desperate fear of rejection. His fingers worked at the button at Marcus’ waistband. “I wouldn’t tease you…not about this.”

Flint swiftly divested himself of his clothing. He lay down, holding the pale, hairless form against his hairy chest. He suspected that Lord Malfoy was watching the events unfold but Marcus decided Harry’s needs outweighed being sacked. He rolled Harry, pinning the smaller man to the mattress beneath him. Harry’s erection nudged his soft belly.

“Are you sure?”

Harry wrapped his arms around the burly bouncer, planting a kiss to his shoulder. “I need to feel, Marcus…just…not inside me…okay? Macnair was hung like a bull.”

Above them, Lucius stepped away from the window, an odd smile on his usually taciturn face. Severus watched the unlikely pair frot against one another. Harry’s face was beautiful in its passion. His pleasured cries went straight to the Potion Master’s groin.

Harry’s body arched as he cried out his release. Severus thought he saw Harry’s features flicker as the orgasm tore though him. Horrified at his own body’s reaction, Severus willed away an erection.


	10. Part Ten

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~*  
PART TEN  
~*~*~*  
“These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning,  
will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night’s arms.”  
\- Pedro Calderon de la Barca

~*~*~*  
Severus Apparated from the main foyer of the Dark Lord’s manor. He had delivered a stronger pain salve for the ancient wizard’s arthritic fingers. Soon the only medical recourse would be to remove all of the bones and then attempt to regrow them with Skel-Gro. Unfortunately, there was no real guarantee that the digits would regrow as healthy bones and joints. The fingers could easily be even more twisted and arthritic. Severus and Zabini had no choice but to test the procedure in depth on arthritic “volunteers” before risking the health of the ancient Dark Lord.

~*~*~*  
Midmorning on the day of Draco’s fete, Severus made his way through the deserted passageway to Ris’ potion workroom, but the chubby brewer was not there. Severus had not seen either Ris or Harry since the evening Lucius discovered the young man in Severus’ chambers. The Potion Master fought an unexpected feeling of disappointment. He had wanted to see the young wizard in either of his disguises before leaving London for his home.

He heard footsteps in the underground hallway. Dean paused several feet from him, balancing a box filled with intricately folded dinner napkins.

“May I be of some assistance, Master Snape?” the young man inquired politely.

“I was looking for Ris.”

“Oh, he’s been here and gone, sir. Was up most of the night rebrewing some of the potions Jigger destroyed. Ris went up to bed about an hour ago. Do you need me to wake him up for you?”

“No.” Severus turned away from the empty workroom. “If I don’t catch him before I leave tomorrow, I’ll just drop him an owl.”

~*~*~  
Harry applied the black eyeliner carefully. He sat before his mirror, applying the mask of the oiran. He dabbed his lip brush into the pot of crimson and steadied his hand before outlining the perfect cupid bow in the center of his lips. One he was satisfied that both sides were symmetrical, he began to fill in his upper lip.

The perfectly emotionless mask was complete. Harry reached for his mother’s old wand and cast a spell to set it. He glanced over to a kimono hanging from a hook on the wall; the emerald green silk was embroidered with silver dragons in honor of Draconis Malfoy’s twenty-first birthday.

He was slipping his feet into the white tabi socks when his attention was caught by three rapid raps to his door followed by a short pause and two additional raps – Lee’s trademark knock.

“Door is open,” Harry called out and the tall entertainer stepped into the room, his heavily beaded braids making an almost musical sound. Lee was wearing a loosely belted silk bathrobe and carried his gold embroidered Egyptian costume over one arm.

“Need your help with my eyes, mate. This new jar of kohl won’t flow for shit.”

Harry smiled softly as he banished the black smudges ringing Lee’s warm brown eyes. With deft brushwork he re-created Cleopatra’s exotic eyes.

Lee sat heavily on Harry’s narrow bed and retrieved two shot glasses and a bottle of Firewhisky from one of the cabinet drawers. He poured two double shots and picked one up. Harry took up the other. They clinked their glasses together as Lee made a toast.

“Here’s to the asshole’s ‘Vingt Premierement’…and the hope that we’ll both be able to walk tomorrow.”

~*~*~*~*  
Severus slipped out of the ballroom. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning and he was mentally exhausted after an evening of stilted conversation, a match-making Narcissa Malfoy and the treacherous political machinations of the idle rich. Even though it was rude to leave without thanking his hosts, Severus decided he didn’t care. 

The guest of honor had long since disappeared with a dozen or so of his former schoolmates. They were no doubt hopping from club to club and raising hell.

Severus paused as the door to a women’s lavatory burst open and two young witches emerged – both looking frustrated. From beyond the door he could hear a third witch sobbing. Based on their formal dress robes, Severus decided the two must have been the only unmarried witches Narcissa hadn’t introduced him to at Draco’s ‘Vingt Premierement’.

The taller of the two sank onto a tapestry-covered bench. She slipped off her shoes, massaging her toes.

“Pans has been at this for over an hour…I’ve had it up to here with her melodramatics…” The witch indicated the air above her head. “So what if Draco’s gone off with his mates and left her behind…She’s engaged to him for Salazar’s sake. No matter how far he tries to run…they’re still stuck with one another in the end.”

The smaller witch snorted gracelessly. She joined her companion on the bench. “Cut her some slack, Millie. You know Pansy and her romantic notions…bought a new black lace chemise and everything….wanted them both to lose their virginities on his twenty-first birthday.”

Severus nearly choked as he tried not to let on he was eavesdropping on their conversation. 

Millie had no such restraint. “Poor deluded Pansy,” she chortled. “Draco’s been shagging everything with legs since he was a third year…but she went to Beauxbaton…wouldn’t know that.”

“I say we haul her out of the loo and go clubbing ourselves. Any idea where the blond git’s gone so we don’t end up at the same place?”

Millie smirked. “Blaise told me Malfoy booked his father’s whores for the evening…and took a dozen or so of his closest friends. So as long as we steer clear of La Noir we’re good.”

Severus strode past the young witches, giving them a polite nod of acknowledgement as he made his way down the corridor to the lobby of the Hotel Britannia. From a distance he heard Millie give a sharp rap to the closed door.

“Giving you five minutes to fix your makeup Pansy, or Tracy and I will leave you here.”

~*~*~*~  
Severus finished packing his paperwork into his trunk, tossing unwanted parchment into the fireplace. His clothing and potion samples were already packed in his trunk. He was looking forward to an early departure: he set a charm to awaken him in a few hours and climbed into bed.

Severus had just settled into the pillows when he heard a muffled disturbance from the hallway. Late party revelers, he thought sleepily. The muffled sounds grew more distinct as the partygoers made their way past his doorway. Severus reached for his wand to cast a silencing spell and realized he had left the wand in the other room. A loud thump echoed from the hallway as a body collided with the wall.

Severus cursed under his breath as he made out the sounds of a man’s sobs. He pulled a pillow over his head, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before his departure. Other garbled voices joined the sobbing man; Severus burrowed into the bedding.

He ignored the voices and was just slipping into a blissful sleep. And then his eyes shot open. The only persons with access to that hallway were the prostitutes.


	11. Part Eleven

  
Author's notes: See Attached  


* * *

WARNING - THIS CHAPTER IS GRAPHIC!!!

~*~*~*  
PART ELEVEN  
~*~*~*  
“No man can think clearly when his fists are clenched.”  
\- George Jean Nathan

~*~*~  
Severus’ hands swiftly sorted through the assortment of potions plucked from his trunk. A soft whimper drew his attention to the bed in the guest suite. Swiftly stripped down to its bottom sheet, the massive bed now held three of La Jarretelle Noir’s prostitutes in various stages of undress. Parvati and Lee rubbed frantically against one another in a futile attempt to reach sexual release. The delicate scent of sea holly and nutmeg was nearly lost in the stench of blood and semen.

Beside the writhing couple, Harry fought to remain conscious. His fingers sought out the comfort of his angel, but the pendant was missing. All that remained of the macabre keepsake was a long gash at his throat, a mute testament to the violence in which it had been torn from his neck. Harry’s eyes fluttered.

“Mas…ape…” his voice was a hoarse whisper. “Af..afro..”

“Aphrodisiac. Yes, I can smell the sea holly.” Severus leaned closer.

“Sp…special brew…not mine…don’t use nutmeg…Dray…”

“Draco?”

“Spiked drinks…forced vials…Parvati…Lee.”

“I don’t smell sea holly or nutmeg on your breath.”

“R-refused.”

“You refused to take it?”

“Nuh…Draco…refused to let me…refused to offer me pleasure…only pain.”

Severus grimaced at the blood soaking through the toweling he had hastily tucked beneath the bruised buttocks. Damn that sadistic little ferret! Draco had dosed his guests and two of their entertainers with an unknown lust potion, while denying the potion to his childhood Companion. While the other whores experienced pleasure as their bodies were continually ravaged, Harry felt only pain as he was slowly torn apart.

“Master Snape?”

Severus turned. Padma, dressed in a demure lavender flannel nightgown, stood at his elbow, her arms filled with an assortment of potion vials. It was a testament to his distraction that the Potion Master had not heard her approach.

“I gathered all the potions I could find from our rooms.” She stared at the trio on the bed. Due to an early monthly bleed, she had been spared the fate of her twin and her friends. “I…I don’t know where Ris sleeps…but maybe someone at the front desk would know.”

The wizard glanced at Harry’s form on the bed, knees drawn up, clutching his abdomen, a sign of internal injuries. Parvati cried out as Lee impaled her, both desperate for release.

“Can’t you do anything for them?”

Retching from the bathroom cut off Severus’ reply. His dark eyes narrowed dangerously. He plucked a muddy blue vial from the collection the witch had scavenged and sniffed the contents. Thrusting the vial into her small hands, he snapped, “Pour this down that idiot’s throat and drag him out here.”

~*~*~*~  
Blaise huddled against the doorframe, tears streaming down his cheeks. The sobering potion was slowly working its magic. Angrily he wiped the tears away. He knew better than to drink; he had always been an embarrassingly emotional drunk.

He wasn’t sure which tasted worse in his mouth – the potion or the vomit. His pounding headache was abating and his thoughts were clearing. Blearily, he watched the other occupants of the room; the horror of the evening snapping into sharp reality.

Severus immobilized the copulating pair, carefully extracting the witch from their tangle of limbs. Her uninjured twin cradled her in flannel clad arms as the Potion Master examined her injuries.

“Will she be all right, sir?” Padma brushed the tangled black hair from her sister’s face. Padma prided herself on always being in control, but she was having difficulty remaining calm. This mindless creature undulating against her was not her playful sister.

The Potion Master looked away from the twins, calculating his next move. Until he knew what the prostitutes had ingested, he could not aggressively treat their injuries. Noticing Blaise hovering at the periphery, his eyes narrowed; he shot a Stinging Hex at the unsuspecting young man.

“Ow!” Blaise exclaimed. “What was that for?”

A second hex caught him; he jumped. “Stop that!”

Severus stalked over to the slightly shorter wizard. Instinctively, Blaise took a step back.

“Are you done imitating an infant?”

Blaise did not reply, but his eyes followed the tip of Severus’ wand.

“Then grab a hold of the bollocks I know you have hidden somewhere and make yourself useful.”

~*~*~*~  
Blaise tipped the final vial of Blood Replenishing potion down the semi-conscious oiran’s throat. Severus had sent two of the hotel’s bellhops out to find an open apothecary; he hoped they would return with much needed replacement potions before Harry bled out.

His hand caressed Harry’s waxy face. The dull green eyes flickered open. Blaise tried to smile at his childhood friend; Harry’s eyes closed. Blaise felt the slightest tingle of magic in his fingertips as Phoenix slipped into unconsciousness.

Severus strode into the bedroom. He had changed out of his nightshirt into professional attire. “I finally reached your grandfather. He’s on his way. The other two have deep internal bruising and some minor vaginal and rectal lacerations. I filled the bathtub with a heavy solution of Remedium. As they won’t take it internally, it should cause no side effects. Padma will make sure they don’t drown.”

The Potion Master listened to Harry’s breathing and watched as the unconscious wizard’s control of his transformation faded. The gaunt angles of The Phoenix softened and the willowy frame filled out. The slender hips widened and took on a gentle curve – Bearer’s hips. Harry’s short black hair became a chestnut brown hue and grew at an alarming rate. Stripes of pure white hair erupted from his temples. Severus found himself looking at a face that was a subtle blend of both Harry and Ris. This was Harrison.

~*~*~*  
Sent by his grandfather to locate a sample of the unusual aphrodisiac the courtesans had been dosed with, Blaise searched the ruined rooms. Although the healer needed the sample, the young wizard viewed its acquisition as a secondary task. In his mind, locating the angel pendant was of primary importance. His grandfather and Severus could heal Harry’s severe physical injuries, but the loss of his daughter a second time would shatter Harry’s tenuous hold on sanity.

When Marcus stalked into the rooms demanding to know what the hell he thought he was doing trespassing on private property, Blaise informed him of his dual tasks and of the events of the evening.

Crawling beneath a bed frame, Blaise snagged a half-full vial. A quick sniff at the contents revealed the strong odor of sea holly and nutmeg. Marcus located the broken silver chain, but neither of them could find the pendant.

~*~*~*  
Harry’s unconscious body hovered above the blood soaked sheets, his long hair secured in a messy topknot to keep it out of the way. Needing to verify that the young Metamorphmagus had not ingested any of the aphrodisiac, Healer Zabini emptied the contents of his stomach into a basin. Analysis revealed bits of undigested food, normal stomach acids and an inordinate amount of semen, but no evidence of lust potion.

Severus tucked a blanket around a dozing Padma, the calming potion he had slipped her taking full effect. Beside her lay Parvati and Lee, deep in a magically-induced healing sleep. Even without knowing exactly what they had ingested, the older wizards knew that even the strongest aphrodisiac would run its course in six to twelve hours. The simplest recourse was to just let them sleep it off.

Zabini turned his attention to the most pressing injury, the continued hemorrhage from the oiran’s rectum. Casting a medicinal enema, he cleaned the channel of fresh blood, blood clots and semen.

“Severus, I need your assistance.”

“Why did you send Blaise away? You should have sent a house elf to search those rooms for a potions vial. He’s in his final year as a Mediwizardry Apprentice. Wouldn’t he have been more use to you here?”

Zabini pushed Harry’s knees back and wide, exploring the bruised and torn rectal area.

“They were not content to repeatedly sodomize this child. He has the bruising and tears you would expect in someone who has been brutalized, but someone wasn’t satisfied with only shoving their penis or their fist into him. These gashes on the inside wall indicate someone pushed a sharp foreign object deep into his rectum. It’s still lodged inside of him.”

Zabini laid a hand on Harry’s bruised inner thigh. 

“I am sorry to subject you to this Severus. I know surgery is not your strong suit.” Zabini’s voice hitched slightly. “But I didn’t want Blaise to see what those animals did to his friend.”

Severus clenched his hand into a tight fist, his fingernails digging into his palm. He regretted his words the moment they passed his lips, but someone needed to say it. “Your grandson is no innocent bystander, Stefan. He was one of the wizards that left with Draco this evening. He well may be one of the animals that did this.”

“I raised my grandson better than that.” Zabini’s voice grew hard. “Hold Harrison’s knees wide and back. Make sure he does not move.”

Severus bit back a comment. Stefan was as deluded as most purebloods when it came to their offspring, never wanting to acknowledge that their children might be guilty of a transgression. He would waste no more words on the subject.

Carefully Zabini maneuvered the object, trying to keep additional damage to the minimum.

“What in Merlin’s name is this thing? It is filled with dark magic.”

Severus knew what the object was even before Healer Zabini placed the angel onto a layer of toweling. One of Myrna’s wings was bent.


	12. Part Twelve

  
Author's notes: see above  


* * *

~*~*~*  
PART TWELVE  
~*~*~*  
“Any idiot can face a crisis. It’s day to day living that wears you out.”  
\- Anton Chekhov

Not wanting to dwell on where his grandfather had found it, Blaise cleaned the stained silver angel, gently straightening the bent wing. Feeling the darkness pulse through the macabre figure, he was tempted to remove the enchantments and bury the fetus before Harry regained consciousness, but Blaise knew that was not his decision to make.

He pointed his wand at the heavy chain and the broken links. “Reparo.”

He watched the loose rings re-link to the chain. No matter how old he was, part of Blaise still retained a child’s fascination with simple magic. Threading the chain through the jumpring, he held up the necklace, watching the angel spin slowly.

Blaise looked toward the bed. Harry’s still form floated a hand’s breadth above the mattress to relieve undue pressure on the massive bruising on his back and hips. He was covered to the shoulders by a thin blanket.

Approaching the bed, his grandfather’s condemnation still echoing in his ears, Blaise felt nothing but guilt as he looked down on the waxen face of his childhood friend. Harry’s face was marred by the ugly black bruises caused by wizards clutching at his head as cock after cock was forced between his swollen lips with enough violence to dislocate his jaw.

Blaise checked over his shoulder. He and Harry were alone. Swallowing the bile in his throat, Blaise lifted the blanket; he had to know what damage he had unwittingly helped to inflict. The blanket slipped out of his fingers, pooling at the young man’s hips. Blaise flinched when he saw the number of bite marks left by the attackers as well as the deep self-inflicted scratches across Harry’s chest, caused by the unconscious compulsion to find comfort in the missing pendant. His tongue unconsciously caressing his front teeth, Blaise closed his eyes. Harry’s forearms and hands were encased in heavy cotton mittens to prevent further damage.

Blaise retrieved the angel pendent from his pocket and opened the clasp. He leaned down and looped one end of the chain behind the unconscious wizard’s neck.

“Get away from him,” a harsh voice barked. “Haven’t you already done enough harm?”

~*~*~*  
With Marcus’ help, Parvati and Lee were taken back to their own rooms. They would awaken from their deep healing sleep in ten to twelve hours, a little sore but with no permanent physical damage. Healer Zabini refused to comment on mental damage; even though the pair were experienced prostitutes and had to be used to some perversions, he seriously doubted gang rape was in either of their portfolios. His hope was that the forced ingestion of the aphrodisiac would dull the horror of the situation.

Healer Zabini’s voice echoed in the silent hallway, furious Italian spoken too swiftly for Severus to easily translate. Blaise’s softer replies were indiscernible. Severus smiled thinly. Perhaps Stefan was not as deluded as he had initially surmised.

Dean appeared, his arms containing a riotous spectrum of colorful fabrics. Perched atop the scattered remains of the entertainer’s costumes were the Katsura wig and the geta.

The bellhop had sobering news. Two of the nightclub waitresses were at St. Mungo’s. Some members of Draco’s party had apparently decided that there wasn’t enough ‘pussy’ to go around and had kidnapped the young women. Both had been repeatedly raped before managing to escape.

Between the destruction of the Gentleman’s Club and the attack on hotel employees, the head concierge was furious. He barred the hotel house elves from cleaning and repairing the Club until he received a reply to the rather strongly worded owl he had sent to Malfoy Manor just before dawn.

~*~*~*  
June Fifth

Severus stood in The Phoenix’s tiny bedroom. He was ostensibly looking for a pair of pajamas to dress the injured wizard, but the contents of the cramped little room fascinated him. Two high shelves ran the total circumference of the room, filled to the brim with books on various subjects. The wardrobe contained no street clothing, just costumes for the club and two brewers’ robes oversized to fit Ris. Other than the bed, the dressing table and a narrow chest of drawers, the room was bare. Very few trinkets and photographs adorned the area.

Folded neatly on the bed was Cedric Diggory’s team jersey – a small note pinned to it – “Give to Seamus. He’s mad about Quidditch.” Beside it was a box with a mailing label affixed to it:   
“Potion Master Severus Snape, Cumbria – Please deliver before noon on June 6th.”

The dark wizard looked once again at the trinkets. Each one held a small tag. He picked up a small-framed Muggle photograph of a red haired woman with sparkling green eyes, a man with the tell-tale amber eyes of a werewolf, and a dark haired little boy with almond shaped green eyes. There was no tag attached to the frame, as if Harry knew the photograph would mean nothing to anyone but himself.

Severus shook the melancholic thought away. He still needed to find some appropriate clothing for Harry to wear. Sitting on the bed, he opened the dresser drawers.

The top drawer was filled with unopened makeup containers and the odd little bits one acquired over time. The second drawer held tabi socks in white and black, but no other undergarments. The bottom drawer held a flannel nightshirt and several pajama sets. Tucked in the back corner was a small vial, carefully secured against breakage.

Severus held the vial up against the light, the mother-of-pearl sheen to the contents made his blood run cold. In his fingers was one of the deadliest poisons known to exist and there was no antidote.

The small clock chimed. It was now eight o’clock in the morning of June Fifth. His dark eyes flickered from the poison to the little white notes a young man attached to meager possessions. In eleven hours, the contract Lucius Malfoy held on Harry would be transferred to Draconis. The iridescent potion taunted the Potion Master; Harry had apparently decided to break the binding contract in the only way he could. The only question was – had he planned to take Draco with him when he went?

Severus pocketed the poison and selected the soft nightshirt from the drawer. He set the neat bundle atop the box addressed to himself, picked it up, and made his way back to the guest suite. Setting the box down on the loveseat, nightgown in hand, he strode into the bedroom only to find Blaise Zabini leaning over Harry’s defenseless body.

“Get away from him,” Severus barked. “Haven’t you already done enough harm?”

~*~*~*  
Blaise jumped. He looked up into Severus’ drawn wand. He stepped back, hands raised, leaving the unfastened necklace pooled on Harry’s bare chest.

“I don’t want to hurt him any more. If I’d been in my right mind, I never would have touched any of them last night.” Blaise licked his bottom lip, nervous that Severus had not lowered his wand. “I-I fixed his pendant…I was just putting it back on him.”

Severus noted the angel and the heavy silver chain against the scratched and bitten chest.

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

Blaise blinked.

“Honestly? No. I think it’s a horrible idea. But Myrna is Scary’s daughter. It’s not my place to control what he does with her.”

Yes, Severus thought, it was not their place to tell Harry what to do with his daughter, however repulsive others found the angel. He lowered his wand.

“Why do you call him Scary?”

“Scary Harry.” Blaise ran a finger over a strand of pigment less hair. “Don’t remember why the name started, but I think it was because his hair has those weird white stripes.

“Anyway, the summer after my first year at Hogwarts, my mother’s fourth husband died as mysteriously as had her second and third. My grandfather was reluctant to let me spend any unsupervised time with her, so he arranged for me to spend the summer with the Malfoys.”

“Draco never told me he had a Companion, so imagine my surprise when I found him one morning in the library.” Blaise closed the latch on the necklace. “I’ve always liked Scary and could never understand why Draco hated him so much. Greg and Vinnie are going to be sick once they realize what they did last night, especially Greg. He’s a little slow and always had problems keeping up in school. Scary spent hours tutoring him and sent him owls all through the seven years at Hogwarts explaining things Greg did not understand.”

Blaise looked Severus straight in the eye.

“My grandfather is angry with me now and he has every right to be. Halfway through my first drink, I knew Draco had tampered with it, but I didn’t stop him or anyone else. I just went along with everything that went on, afraid to speak up. Grandfather says that a man’s reputation is colored by the friends he chooses to associate with, and he’s right. I’ve spent years trailing Draco, trying to keep him out of trouble, but I’ve come to the realization that Draconis Malfoy is no longer worth my time.”


	13. Part Thirteen

  
Author's notes: see above  


* * *

~*~*~*  
PART THIRTEEN  
~*~*~*  
“Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it   
at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.”  
\- Buddha

~*~*~*  
Severus settled into a comfortable chair in the guest suite’s outer room, the events of the past twenty-four hours finally catching up with him. His head fell forward as he slipped into an exhausted sleep. Clutched in his lap was the still unopened package addressed to him. As much as the contents tantalized him, Harrison had not wanted it opened until the next day and Severus, haunted by the contents of the young man’s room, felt bound to honor the request.

Fatigued, his walls fell and he drifted into a series of unrelated dreams, forgotten as soon as they had passed.

~*~*~*  
Severus ran the hairbrush through the knee-length lock of hair, working out knots and tangles. The hair was silky and thick; a touch of irritation passed through him. Brewing potions always left his own hair a greasy, limp mess. How did Ris prevent the fumes from damaging his mass of hair?

He gathered up three hanks of hair and began to plait the tresses. The other half of Harry’s hair was already in a loose braid lying over his left shoulder. At quick glance, the streaks of white hair appeared to be ribbons woven into the braids. Severus fastened off the plait with an elastic band.

Harry was in a healing sleep. His internal injuries would take several days to heal and Zabini thought it prudent to keep the young man unconscious, especially during the painful twice daily medicinal enemas.

Severus set the hairbrush aside, removed the mitten from one hand, and clasped it in his own. In the oiran’s struggle with his attackers, the finely manicured fingernails had been torn and shredded. Severus conjured a nail file and began to smooth the edges. Although there were simple grooming charms especially created for manicures, he was reluctant to subject the injured man to unnecessary magic.

Deep in thought, Lucius Malfoy turned away from the scene as silently as he had approached it. His face was expressionless.

~*~*~*  
Severus stretched a crick in his back. He had been sitting for hours, reviewing his extensive notes and realized that no one had been in to check on him or the sleeping Harry.

Parvati and Lee should be waking up from their potion induced sleep soon. Deciding he needed to follow up on their injuries, he strode from the guest suite and into the silent hallway.

Severus stopped at Padma’s half-opened door. He knocked on the doorframe and waited, but no response came from within. He listened closely, but heard only silence. He stepped toward the next door, expecting to find Padma with her sister, but the room was empty as well – too empty. The room had been stripped bare of all personal possessions.

Quick inspection revealed that both Padma and Lee’s room were vacated as well. Apprehensively, Severus approached The Phoenix’s bedroom. The courtesan’s room was much as he had left it hours earlier. Only the Quidditch jersey and the marked trinkets were missing. 

What in Merlin’s name was going on?

~*~*~  
Feeling refreshed from a long, hot shower, Severus checked his rooms a final time to make sure he had left no personal possessions behind. He looked at the time on the mantle clock; it was almost teatime and he had overstayed his departure by more than half a day.

A brisk knock at the door roused Severus from his thoughts as Dean wheeled in a tea cart.

“I did not order tea.”

“I know, sir. The concierge told me that you had not yet left and thought you must be famished.”

“Dean, do you have any idea what happened to the entertainers? They are missing and their rooms are stripped.”

Dean grimaced. He looked over his shoulder, checking the empty hallway. “Didn’t Lord Malfoy speak with you?”

“I have not spoken with Lucius since the fete last evening.”

“Lord Malfoy has closed down the brothel. La Jarretelle Noir will remain open as a night club. The Gentleman’s Club will be repaired, but it will reopen as a private club. There will be no back rooms, no personal entertainment.”

Dean set out the tea; Severus noted that it featured a heartier fare than usually found at high tea.

“Where have they gone?”

“Lord Malfoy obliviated Lee and the twins. He sent the girls to one of the other Malfoy hotels. Seamus thought he heard Monte Carlo, but we don’t really know. Lee’s contract was purchased by an anonymous buyer. The two waitresses and Marcus have also been oblivated. I don’t know who else, but I suspect the same will happen to the night concierge, Seamus and me before he’s through. Can’t blame his lordship – the Hotel Britannia does not need a scandal.”

Severus felt his stomach twist. How large was the list for obliviation? Did it include Harry, the Zabinis and himself?”

~*~*~  
The Potion Master picked up the wrapped package. With the threat of obliviation hanging over his head, he could not wait another day to see what Harry wanted sent to him. Ever cautious, he checked the box for malicious intent prior to severing the twine holding the package closed. A letter lay at the very top.

“June 4, 2001

My Dear Master Snape,

Enclosed you will find a series of potions journals detailing the alterations I have made to the Ministry Mandated Potions Regimen over the years. Included are my successes and failures as well as the reasoning behind each alteration. From our few conversations, I have the impression that you feel I may have stumbled onto a modification to the regimen that is less harmful to the body. I hope that you are right. 

This project has given me a sense of purpose for the past three years and I regret that I will not see its completion. I want to thank you once again for arranging my further employment through Masters Slug and Jigger, but we both know that I will never be able to take advantage of their generosity. 

As you know, my contract with Lord Malfoy transfers to his son at exactly 7:45 p.m. June 5th, an odd time I know, but symbolizing the recorded moment of his birth. Draco has already informed me that, unlike his father, he will not indulge my whims. I have been forbidden to continue dallying in potions or any other intellectual pursuits. A whore has no use for a brain.

Continued enslavement is unacceptable to me. By the time you receive this package, I hopefully will have completed several irrevocable steps to insure my ‘freedom’. 

I will always be grateful that you did not treat me as if I was a ‘deluded little whore’.

Best Regards,  
Harrison J. Evans”

“Damn,” Severus cursed, re-reading the note. Time was running out and the injured young man was still unconscious. He was tempted to cast an “Ennervate”, but that would be no guarantee that Harry would be coherent enough to answer any detailed questions.

Without looking at the contents of the box, Severus stowed both the box and the note into his trunk. He would not willingly permit himself to be obliviated, but if the unthinkable happened, Ris’ research would remain.

~*~*~*  
Severus set aside the remains of his tea. He was anxious to return to his home, but was reluctant to leave a defenseless Harry. Dean had promised to try to find someone to watch over him. However, both ballrooms and one of the conference rooms were booked for a convention. There was no staff to spare.

The mantle clock chimed the half hour. Severus fingered the pilfered poison vial and debated what he should do with it. In less than three hours, Harrison Evans would become the property of Draco Malfoy and the transfer would occur whether or not Harry regained consciousness. His plans for suicide would be delayed, perhaps permanently, if Draco seized total control over him.

Lucius strode into the room, his normally immaculate hair was falling loose from the serpent clasp and his robes were limp. Alarmed by the man’s sudden appearance and fearful of a surprise attempt at obliviation, Severus drew his wand.

“Put that away, Sev!” Lucius barked. He pulled a parchment scroll from his cloak and thrust it beneath Severus’ large nose. “Sign this.”

Severus blinked, wary of his friend’s uncharacteristic behavior. He unrolled the document and began to read the ornate script. His head shot up, his dark eyes locking into pale grey. “Is this a fucking joke?”

“Sign it, Severus,” Lucius ordered, flatly.

He quickly scanned the document. The contract transferred the possession of one Harrison James Evans to one Severus Tobias Snape at exactly 6:00 p.m. on June 5, 2001. The idea of owning another person outright was repulsive to the halfblood wizard, but the vial of poison in his pocket weighed even heavier on his psyche.

Severus took the quill presented to him, and signed his name, complete with his various titles. He placed a thumbprint beside his signature. Giving a silent prayer that Harry would one day forgive him, Severus inked one of the young man’s thumbs and carefully held it to the contract. The parchment glowed and Severus felt a wave of magic wash over him, binding them to contract.

He set quill and parchment on the side table. Conjuring a damp cloth, he took Harry’s unresisting hand into his and wiped away the ink.

“Forgive me, Severus,” Lucius spoke softly. “Obliviate!”

Severus spun, wand in hand, sending a stinging hex to his friend’s hand, forcing the spell to miss its intended target and to land harmlessly in the corner of the mattress. Lucius’ wand had not been directed at him as he had feared, but to Harry’s temple. 

“It’s for the best. He shouldn’t have to remember what they did to him.”

“No. He deserves to know what happened to him, even if it’s painful.”


	14. Part Fourteen

  
Author's notes: see above  


* * *

~*~*~*~  
PART FOURTEEN  
~*~*~*~  
“When we remember we are all mad,  
the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.”  
\- Mark Twain

~*~*~*  
Harry felt as if he were floating, trapped between sleep and consciousness. With his emotions detached everything seemed to feel warm, grey, and fuzzy. His mind couldn’t seem to grasp any coherent thoughts; everything was a confusing kaleidoscope of disjointed memories. Had someone slipped him a potion?

Harry tried to open his eyes, tried to move his hands, but his body was unwilling or unable to cooperate. How strange, he thought, but he was not frightened. His mind was too disorganized.

Soft footsteps grew nearer. Then Harry felt the mattress dip and a man settled beside him. He wasn’t certain how he knew it was a man. Cool fingers ran gently over his face in an odd exploration. Hair was brushed back from his forehead.

And then there was a second pair of hands. The figure shifted beside him and then his warm cocoon disappeared. Warmer hands lifted his hips, pushing the nightshirt hem up toward his chest, leaving Harry exposed from his waist down. His hips were lifted higher and tilted up; something firm was tucked beneath him. Harry’s heart began to race as his knees were spread wide open.

No. No. No. Terror flooded Harry’s mind. There were at least two others in the bed with him, touching his body in a sexual manner. They had drugged him and now they were going to rape him.

The cool hands ran down one thigh in what was meant to be a comforting gesture, but Harry was not deceived. Something cold and slick nudged his anal opening, slowly entering the tight and swollen channel. His rapid heart beat echoed in his ears. The object inched deeper into his rectum, much too deep to be a human finger. Harry’s mind screamed as something pushed firmly against his damaged tissues.

Harry’s body spasmed as something warm and liquid filled his cavity and trickled out between his cheeks. Harry was confused when neither man thrust into him; the strong hands just held him firmly. The warm trickle became a heavier flow and he felt his internal organs twist. Sweet Morgana, he thought. Someone was ripping his insides out and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

And the gentle cool hand was back, caressing his hair. Tears leaked from his closed eyes.

“Hush,” an unknown voice crooned comfortingly in his ear. “It will be over soon.”

Harry’s mind and body decided he had suffered enough trauma and slowly drifted away.

Stefan Zabini gently eased the tip of the enema bag from Harry’s abused opening. After a moment, the medicated solution stopped draining into the basin beneath the young man’s hips. He held a soft square of gauze saturated in a heavy solution of murlap and dittany against the stitches that closed the tears in the sensitive tissues.

“No signs of infection, Severus.” Zabini wiped his hands on a towel. “But he has a slight fever. We’ll do another treatment tomorrow and then I’ll take the stitches out. He’s lucky. That kind of injury could easily have turned septic.”

~*~*~  
Lucius stood in his library, hands clasped behind his back. He admired the antique silk-faced ninygo figurine and waited for his son to arrive.

He wondered how long it would take Draco to realize a small detail in his inheritance had been plucked from his destructive little fingers.

~*~*~*  
The twitter of sparrows serenaded Harry as he slowly opened his eyes. His eyes were gummy, as if he had been asleep too long and he was immediately grateful to whoever had kept the draperies drawn. He tried to swallow; it felt as if a hippogriff had died in his mouth. He slowly stretched his stiff body.

Harry looked to his left. He didn’t recognize the room. His head throbbed as he tried to make order from his disjointed mind. Had he been ill, he wondered. Was his current mental state caused by fever dreams?

He sat up wondering why he felt so drained. Amusement flickered when twin plaits cascaded over his shoulders and settled into his lap. He always wore his hair in a single loose braid when he slept. A row of potion vials and salves on a side table answered many questions.

“You are awake.”

Bright green eyes traveled to the doorway. The tall, plain figure of The Dark Lord’s Potion Master was the last person he ever expected to see. Harry frowned.

“Where am I, sir?”

“You are in the Prince Estates in Cumbria. I brought you here for your own protection.”

Harry ran his palm against his forehead as if to erase the dull throb. Half-thoughts pushed at the edge of his consciousness, but every time he tried to grab one, it flickered away. His fingers wrapped anxiously around his angel pendant.

“Why can’t I think straight? The potions?”

“Today is the eighth of June. You have been in a healing sleep for three days.”

“So this disorientation is temporary?”

“Yes. Your mind will clear in a few days.”

“You are positive I wasn’t obliviated?”

“No,” Severus replied shortly. “Lucius tried and I forbade it.”

“You forbade…he listened…why?”

“Because you are mine.”

~*~*~*~  
Harry submerged himself fully in the deep bathtub. Not for the first time in the past ten years did he debate whether or not to come up for air after his lungs emptied. Once again, he was alone in the world; it would be so easy to stay at the bottom of the tub.

But the decision was made for him when two long, thin hands reached under his armpits and hauled him to the surface. Water and hair streaming down his face, Harry spluttered. “Trilby?”

The house elf waved one long finger back and forth in admonishment. Trilby had been his personal elf when he lived at Malfoy Manor and he trusted the creature implicitly. 

“Master Harrison must not be playing his water games when his mind is being sick. Master Severus is being kind to bring you to his home. Master Harrison is not being good little wizard hurting Master Severus’ feelings.”

Suitably chastened, Harry did not object when Trilby washed his hair and bathed him as if he were a small child. The fading bruises on his body and the healing bite marks on his left nipple and shoulders were acknowledged with a soft click of the house elf’s tongue, but the stitches and bruising below Harry’s waist caused the elf’s bat-like ears to slump.

“Trilby put Master Harrison back in bed. Master Harrison is being tired out.”

~*~*~*  
Harry shivered in the cool night air as he stared up at the stars. Far away from the lights of any Muggle settlement, millions of stars glittered in the pitch-black night. He remembered spending hours with his Uncle Remmie memorizing the names and locations of the constellations. He inhaled the crisp clean air of the moonless night.

A warm cloak was dropped over his shoulders; Harry smiled at the thoughtful gesture. The cloak carried the spicy herbal scent that he associated with the Potion Master. Severus stood beside him and joined in the silent stargazing.

“I missed the stars.” Harry’s voice was soft.

It was such a simple statement, but Severus heard the emotion behind the words and knew the words meant more than they seemed.

~*~*~*  
Severus looked up as Harry entered the library. The long variegated hair was pulled back in a simple high ponytail and he wore a peculiar robe that had once belonged to an unknown Prince ancestor. Harry’s expression was pensive.

“Master Snape, we need to talk.”

“I asked you to call me Severus,” he chided gently.

“Severus.”

Severus indicated a leather wing chair that matched his own and Harry perched tensely in it. The physical injuries were healing without scarring, but the younger wizard’s mental state was still an unknown.

Busy catching up on his own research and attending the needs of the Dark Lord, Severus was not able to spend much time with his unexpected Companion. Trilby and his own house elf, Daisy, kept him apprised of the young man’s activities. They reported that while Harry seemed to be content with his forced solitude, he was often withdrawn.

Severus remembered Lucius’ comment that they were very much alike. He was curious to see if his friend was correct. “Do you think that you are ready for any sort of serious discussion?”

“My mind is as clear as I can hope it will ever be. There are odd little holes in my memory from the night of Draco’s fete, but I think that that is to be expected. The human mind often shields its host from traumatic events.”

“Should I have permitted Lucius to obliviate you?”

Harry paused. “No. I think that in the long term, not knowing what happened to me would be worse than knowing. I saw the state of my own body. Unanswered questions would have tormented me for years.”

They eased back into a comfortable silence as Daisy popped in with a late night snack of hot chocolate and assorted biscuits. Harry wrapped his fingers around the warm ceramic mug. “Trilby brought me some boxes from my room at the hotel this afternoon.”

“I sent him to pack your room.”

“Thank you. I thought I’d lost the only photograph I had of my mother and Remmie.”

“I sense a but,” Severus replied wryly.

“You are correct. Some things were missing…my makeup, my clothing and a few trinkets.”

Severus stared at him. “You wish to wear your kimonos? You want a daily reminder of your sexual servitude?”

“I would like the kimono with the phoenix pattern for sentimental reasons and the brewer’s robes would be useful. I don’t want the under robes, the makeup, the katsura or the geta. I don’t ever want to walk in those fucking geta ever again.”

“I will ask Daisy to retrieve the kimono. The brewer’s robes need to be altered to fit your true figure. As for the trinkets…there were notes attached to some to give them away…so your wishes were honored.” Severus smirked. “Are you regretting the loss of your Quidditch Cup jersey?”

“Oh, Merlin, no.”

Severus cocked an eyebrow.

“I’ve never been one for souvenirs. I certainly never asked Diggory for it.”

“It was somewhat sodden and fragrant when I saw you with it in the Gentleman’s Club.”

“It would have ruined my silks. The first thing I did was have the thing laundered.”

“I noticed it was neatly folded and laundered. Seamus was thrilled.”

Harry nodded. “Seamus is mad about Quidditch, although he probably would have preferred it complete with the sweat stains.”

Harry took another sip of his hot chocolate. He appeared to be examining the titles on the overloaded book cases. “So, what did Draco do this time?”

The casualness of the question surprised Severus. He looked up to see that Harry was still examining the bookcase. “It must have been suitably impressive to have gotten this reaction out of his father.”

“And what reaction might that be?”

Harry arched almost cat-like in the chair. He smiled mischievously.

“So tell me…Severus. Are you pleased or horrified to find yourself the owner of one Harrison James Evans?”


	15. Part Fifteen

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~*~  
PART FIFTEEN  
~*~*~*~  
“Here is the test to find whether your mission on Earth is finished-  
If you’re alive, it isn’t  
\- Richard Bach  
~*~*~*~

Severus paused in Diagon Alley. He had a meeting with Slug and Jigger to discuss the brewing of the Ministry-mandated potions for that month. The tinctures and infusions “Ris” had aging in the basement of the Hotel Britannia had already been moved to the shop workroom as well as a copy of the brewer’s potion journals.

The Potion Master pulled a list of clothing and measurements from a hidden pocket. He needed to pick up a basic wardrobe for his houseguest. Having owl ordered his own hand-tailored robes from Twilfitts and Tattings for years, he was at a bit of a loss where to pick up a few articles of ready-to-wear clothing suitable for a much younger man.

On principal, he refused to step one foot inside Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. The very sight of the bright pink shop brought memories of the only trip to Diagon Alley he had ever taken with his mother.

He was nearly four and excited to visit the magical shopping district, captivated by the odd sights, sounds and smells of the street vendors. His great grandfather wanted to take him on a surprise outing for his forth birthday and he needed a set of robes.

His mother clutched his hand tightly as she hurried down the narrow street, never looking anyone in the eye. Severus had to run to keep up with her. He wanted her to stop, to let him look at the fascinating displays but she refused. He didn’t understand that having been forced to marry a Muggle and producing a halfblood child, Eileen had sacrificed any social status she once held by being born a Prince.

They entered Madam Malkin’s, a shop Eileen had always frequented with her mother as a child. The sales clerks refused to wait on them. When she spoke, the witches ignored her. Eileen picked out a robe from the sales rack. She was shocked when Madam Malkin plucked the robe out of her hands, thrust it back on the rack and announced loudly that her robes were too fine for a halfblood scarecrow of a boy.

Determined that she would not show weakness, Eileen picked up her confused child and carried him out of the shop. From over her shoulder, Severus saw the witches’ haughty smirks.

Humiliated, Eileen Prince Snape Side-Along Apparated them back to Spinner’s End. She put her wand and her robes away, not returning to the magical world until her death four years later. 

It was little Severus’ first lesson in blood prejudice; it would not be his last.

A tap on his shoulder brought the Potion Master out of his melancholy musings. He turned to see Blaise Zabini standing at his shoulder.

“Are you all right?” Blaise inquired. “I called your name and you didn’t answer.”

“It has been a mad few weeks.”

“I can imagine. Draco’s fit to spit. How is Scary, anyway?”

“How did you manage to avoid being obliviated.? I thought Lucius tracked down everyone involved.”

“He forced a list from me at wandpoint. Grandfather reminded him, not so subtly, that Physicians and Potion Masters take a vow of secrecy regarding their patients.”

“And?”

“And that if he dared obliviate us, he had best practice healing charms and medicinal brewing because no reputable healer or potion master would ever service a member of the Malfoy household ever again.”

“All phrased in much more diplomatic terms, I am sure.”

“When has Grandfather ever been anything less than diplomatic? So don’t avoid the subject. How is Scary?”

“His name is Harrison. I would prefer you refer to him by that name. Don’t you think you have outgrown childish nicknames?”

“Yes, but he’s doing okay? Is there anything…Harrison…needs?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. I need to procure him a basic wardrobe. Eventually, I’ll bring him to one of the Twilfitt tailors, but he needs something for now. Where would you suggest I go?”

“Madam Malkin’s is across the way.” Blaise gestured toward the pink store front.

“No.”

“Too pink?” Blaise smiled.

“Too sanctimonious,” was Severus’ curt reply.

“You’re looking for everyday, nothing special, right? I usually go to Gladraggs when I need something to knock around in. I just need to pick up a book at Flourish and Blotts, so I can help you if you want. They’re on the second floor above Quill and Ink Stationery.”

~*~*~*  
Arsenius Jigger and Armond Slug stared at the articles lined up on the potions workbench. Jigger pinched a sample of St. John’s Wort and it crumbled at his touch. They looked in stunned amazement at the young brewer standing beside Severus.

“I tested your sample potions. They were, on the whole, medicinal grade. How in Merlin’s name did you ever manage to brew anything using this shite?”

Jigger prodded a desiccated seed pod with the tip of his finger. “This is good only for the compost bin. Come to the warehouse with me, laddie. If you can brew with this dreck, let’s see what you can do with fresh ingredients.”

“But…” Harry stuttered.

“Son, you’ve managed to stumble into some mysterious brew…but no medicinal brewer worth his salt should accept using substandard ingredients. Maybe the secret is in your tinctures and infusions, but let’s give the fresh a go, eh?” Slug gave Harry an encouraging smile. “Go on, son. Let Arsenius show you how to pick the best.”

Slug waited until the pair left the workroom. “Personally, I think it’s the addition of the nutrient potion or the anti-depressant or both. The standard Ministry regimen is extremely harsh on the human digestive and nervous system. Something in those brews counteracts the damage.”

“St. Bernadette’s in Dublin is a bit ahead of the curve on this as well. They’ve added a digestive potion to their mix,” Severus replied.

“Severus, how is your Mr. Evans handling the travesty that occurred at Hotel Britannia?”

“You’ve heard about that? They’ve been trying to keep that quiet.”

“No one is going to hear anything about it from us. We have always prided ourselves on our discretion. It must have been horrific…that boy the hotel sent over for emergency potions was in a right state.” Slug paused, nibbling on his lower lip. “Heard there was a nasty overdose of lust potions involved. Your boy didn’t have anything to do with that, did he?”

“Ris brews mild aphrodisia. Simple mood enhancements you might feed a shy bride on her wedding night or a wizard suffering erectile dysfunction…nothing hard-core…nothing containing nutmeg.”

“It must have been hard on him seeing his friends hurt like that. I imagine he was there.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Something in Severus’ voice made Slug pause. “But he’s a brewer, not a whore…”

“The pureblood heirs-apparent were not content to merely sexually abuse La Noir’s prostitutes, they extended the experience to several of the Hotel Britannia’s service workers as well,” Severus responded flatly, deciding to let Slug draw his own conclusions, however faulty. This tidbit ensured Slug would never question Harry about the event. 

“He remembers nothing, Armond,” Severus lied. “Lord Malfoy saw fit to have all of them obliviated.”

“That was both humane and politically advantageous for Lucius, eh? The victims can’t identify their attackers if they have no recollection of the night. Of course, there will be no justice for the poor boy that died.”

At Severus’ blank expression, Slug shook his head. “Luce must have hit you with an obliviate as well, old friend. His favorite, the pretty geisha boy, didn’t make it. I’d wager that’s the real reason he shut down his dollhouse.”

~*~*~*  
Harry brushed out his knee-length hair. He stared at his reflection; his real face stared back at him, apprehensively. Gathering his hair into a loose handful, he ran his fingers through the ragged ends. The bottom few inches were completely chestnut brown, the hair that had been on his head the day his Uncle Remus was executed. Just above that narrow band, the pigment less streaks began.

For ten years he had rejected all attempts to trim his hair, keeping that narrow band of chestnut hair was a pathetic remembrance of the werewolf, but it also symbolized the end of his freedom. He rubbed the ends of his hair against his cheek and watched several strands of the fragile hair snap off.

He studied his reflection in the mirror. Wretched freak, he thought. Shaking his head, he pulled back his variegated hair and plaited it into its usual single braid.

Almond shaped green eyes closed as Harry morphed himself into Ris. He contemplated the friendly round face before altering his features into The Phoenix’s gaunt high cheekbones. His shoulders slumped and he dropped all enhancements.

“What are you doing?” Severus asked from the doorway. Stopping by to remind Harry that it was almost dinner time, he had watched in silent curiosity.

Harry stood up from his dressing table and smoothed down his robes before walking toward the Potion Master.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he said quietly. Unused to physical contact, Severus stiffened slightly when Harry wrapped his arms around him and laid a cheek against his chest.

“Who do you want me to be?”

“Yourself.”


	16. Part Sixteen

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~*  
PART SIXTEEN  
~*~*~*  
“Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh air,  
is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies?”  
\- Erich Fromm

~*~*~*  
Stefan Zabini knocked on the door to Severus’ workroom. The Potion Master set aside his mortar and pestle; he turned his full attention to the Mediwizard.

“He is severely depressed.” Stefan said.

“He was taking an anti-depressant along with the Ministry mandated potions. I know you want his system purged of all toxins, but would it be beneficial to re-introduce a mild anti-depressant?”

“No. The potion would only be a short term patch. Harrison needs a more permanent solution. He is going to need your help.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“He must to remove that amulet he wears around his neck, to start. The dark energy pulsing from that angel has to be neutralized. I cannot imagine why he would wear such a thing.”

“Removing Myrna will cure his depression? I’ll confiscate it tonight.”

“It has to be his decision. You can’t make it for him.”

“I’ll talk to him, Stefan. Is there anything else?”

“You are aware that he is a bearer, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you plan to breed him?”

“For Circe’s sake, Zabini. He’s not a dog!” Severus snapped.

Zabini held up his hands in conciliation. “Bad choice of words. Will you permit him to carry a child to term?”

“Did one of those animals impregnate him? Did the contraceptive potion fail?”

“No. But he can’t take the contraceptive potions any longer. They’re damaging his natural cycles.”

“So what are you telling me? He’s going into heat?” Severus was growing agitated.

“No. As you so kindly pointed out, he’s not a dog. But his pheromones will eventually get into rhythm as the potions leave his system. If you are not in the market for an heir, you will have to cast contraceptive charms on yourself or remain celibate. If you sterilize him, he will die.”

“Stefan, I have been celibate by choice for nearly a decade. I am not a hormonal adolescent incapable of platonic relationships. My…Companion…has been brutalized. He may never be capable of any sort of intimacy.”

Zabini reached out and rested a hand on Severus’ shoulder. “If he does one day come to your bed, do not turn him away.”

~*~*~*  
A large barn owl was perched on the back of a chair, waiting patiently as Harry walked into the dining room for breakfast. She stuck out her leg; Harry untied the letter and placed it beside Severus’ plate with the rest of the morning post.

Sensing Harry’s presence, breakfast appeared on the table. Arranging a few tidbits on a plate, he placed it in front of the owl and poured her a goblet of water. “Are you to wait for a reply?”

The owl cocked her head and resumed her repast.

Severus strode into the room, robes billowing behind him. Acknowledging both Harry and the barn owl, he poured himself some tea before opening the missive.

“St. Bernadette’s is hosting a seminar dealing with the Ministry Mandated Potions next month. They wish to discuss, among other subjects, alterations to the official potion regimen. Attendance is mandatory for all those receiving the Ministry Stipend. They have formally requested your presence at the forum.”

Harry blanched. “No, please. I can’t go. You and Master Slug have copies of my journals and you have duplicated my brews. You can answer any questions.”

Severus set the letter beside his plate. Once Harry could no longer hide behind his masks, he seemed to lose the confidence his alters once projected. “Only you can offer valuable insight into what you did not write in your journals.”

“Please, they’ll just laugh at me…a deluded whore playing with potions.”

“Thomas O’Malley at St. Bernadette’s knows only that you were a discarded Companion brewing potions in the cellar of a brothel. I didn’t lie to him about your credentials when I sent him a copy of your notes, and I saw no reason to expose your past. He admits that you are unorthodox, but it doesn’t make your research any less reliable.” As far as Severus was concerned, the discussion was over. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Harry set aside his cutlery; his appetite was gone. “Don’t make me go, Severus. They’ll dismiss the research when they discover I’m just a halfblood bastard who never even took his N.E.W.T.s”

Now that was an unexpected wrinkle, Severus thought. “You were still at Malfoy Manor when you were seventeen. Why didn’t you take your N.E.W.T.s?”

“I could have been tested on Theory, but I could not be tested on the Practicals. All pregnant witches and wizards are denied entrance to N.E.W.T. Practicals due to their unstable magic and possible harm to the fetus. By the time the next examinations were held, I was already at La Noir.”

~*~*~  
Severus looked up from his desk. Harry was in the next room reading a herbology textbook. N.E.W.T. Examination Study Guides had arrived from the bookseller by owl earlier in the week. The young wizard was planning to take the N.E.W.T.s in Potions, Herbology, Charms and Transfiguration when the examinations were offered at the Ministry of Magic.

The goal of passing the four core subjects gave structure to the young man’s day. The intensive study schedule was, so far, keeping his mind occupied; he did not appear to be dwelling too much on the past.

Harry was bathed in a rare sunbeam from the library windows. The angel pendant glittered against the wizard’s dark robes. Severus knew he could no longer avoid the subject.

“Harrison, take a walk with me.”

~*~*~*  
The two wizards walked through the estates’ gardens. Daisy was trying to restore order to the neglected beds and she had done a wonderful job reclaiming the herbal gardens. With Trilby’s additional assistance, she was now making headway with the ornamental shrubbery and the rose gardens. Beyond the garden walls, Harry could see the wild rolling countryside of Cumbria.

“It’s very beautiful out here,” Harry said, stopping to inhale the fragrance of the potions garden. “Do you even have neighbors?”

“I do, but I have never met them. The estate is draped in Anti-Muggle wards. It can be quite savage in the winter. You may not find it so beautiful then.”

Severus led Harry along a tall row of hedges. He stopped at an iron gate. Beyond the gate, Harry could see the ancient marble headstones of a country graveyard. He felt a ripple of wards as they walked through the gate. Slightly overgrown and with an air of benign neglect, the ancient graveyard projected calm. Sunlight dappled through the old oak trees.

Severus caught Harry’s hand and walked silently through the rows of Prince ancestors. He paused, just for a moment, at the graves of his mother and great-grandfather, but the headstones were not their final destination.

In a sunny little spot, a low wrought iron fence covered in wild roses contained a number of smaller headstones. Little white marble lambs and cherubs decorated many of the markers. Harry realized it was an infants’ graveyard.

Harry’s hand rose from his side, ready to curl around the pendant, but Severus captured the fingers and squeezed gently.

“Myrna would be safe here.”

Harry did not reply. His eyes drifted over to the headstones and beyond. He had created the angel at a time of despair. He still mourned for her, but Myrna deserved better from her father. He blinked back tears that threatened to fall and gazed back down at a sleeping lamb headstone. Myrna would be safe here and she would not be alone.

“It is time, Harrison. You need to let her go.”

~*~*~  
The full moon bathed the gardens in a pale light, leaving malevolent shadows in the shrubbery. A howl caused a shiver to run up Harry’s spine; he had not heard the mournful cries for years.

“You were quite young when you lived with Lupin. How did you handle the full moon?”

Harry turned away from the window. Severus was sitting in his usual chair. “When I was really small, my mum was still alive. She’d stay with me while Remmie went away. I was four when she died, too young to leave alone. Once or twice he sent me to a Muggle friend, but we moved a lot so we had to resort to a dog crate.”

“He caged himself in and left you to roam around?”

“No. He’d hang the dog crate from the rafters, cover me in his scent, feed me a Dreamless Sleep potion, and lock me in the cage.”

“That must have been frightening.”

Harry shrugged. “You play with the cards you are dealt. I miss him sometimes, but I sure don’t miss him pissing on me.”

A snort escaped Severus’ usually stoic demeanor. Up until that point, he had never thought about how a beast would mark his ‘cub’. It was a testament to Lupin’s loyalty and love that he had not abandoned Harry when it clearly would have simplified his life.

“Don’t ever leave the house alone on a full moon. The cries you hear are from a rogue pack that occasionally inhabits the forests. Stay away from them in skin or fur; they are feral and nothing like your uncle.”

Harry gave a final look at the moon before drawing the draperies. “Severus, I have never thanked you for becoming my Master. You are an intensely private man and I know that you are uncomfortable with the idea of owning another soul.” Harry’s fingers reached for a pendant that no longer existed. He smiled sheepishly at the Potion Master. “We were virtually strangers. What made you take me?”

Severus clasped Harry’s uneasy fingers and placed them back to the young man’s side. “We will need to break you of this nervous habit.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, subdued. It was obvious to him that Severus was changing the subject. “If you don’t have need of me, I’ll go to bed.”

Severus gave him a nod of acknowledgement and watched the wizard walk toward the door, long braid swaying past his hips.

“While we were not friends, neither were we strangers. I enjoyed interacting with both Ris and The Phoenix. I found myself seeking you out for your intelligence and your humor.”

Harry stopped at the door.

“I, too, first entered Malfoy Manor as a Companion, but my contract was a Gentleman’s Agreement, not one of ownership, and it dissolved once I came of age. Lucius Malfoy never abused me physically or sexually and we eventually became friends.”

“You, on the other hand, were also a Companion, but Lucius took a paternal interest in you, taking on the role of guardian, not owner. He found himself having to choose between his heir and you. No matter how fond of you he became, he is a Malfoy first. Yet, while he was forced to abandon you, he never stopped loving you.”

“You signed my contract because he asked you to.” Harry’s voice held no recrimination.

Severus stood up and approached the shorter wizard. “Lucius ordered me to sign the contract, but I could have refused.”

“Why didn’t you?”

A long, potion stained finger ran across freckles on the bridge of Harry’s nose.

“You are worth a hundred Draco Malfoys.”


	17. Part Seventeen

  
Author's notes: See above  


* * *

~*~*~  
PART SEVENTEEN  
~*~*~  
“Love is…a tender look which becomes a habit.”  
\- Peter Ustinov

~*~*~  
Severus sipped a cup of tea while he watched the lawyer examine the Contract of Companionship. Jonathan Greengrass of Greengrass, Greengrass and Bulstrode, Attorneys at Law, ran his wand over the document and shook his head.

“You should have come to me first, Severus. Why did you sign this if you didn’t want a slave?”

Severus blinked. ‘Ownership’ was bad enough; the term ‘slave’ cut him to the bone. “And the fact that Mr. Evans’ signature does not appear on the contact does not alter it?”

“No. His thumbprint magically binds him to the contract. In the past, it was not unusual for the Companion to be illiterate.”

“Is there any way I can transfer the ownership back to Harrison himself?”

Greengrass shook his head. “Were you drunk when you signed this? Confunded? What ever possessed you to enter into such a contract if you don’t want the boy? Just sign him over to someone else and wash your hands of it.”

“I want to keep Harrison, Jonathan. I just don’t want to own him.” Severus set the cup back into the saucer.

“Lucius rammed this document down your throat, didn’t he?” Greengrass asked. Severus did not reply. “You were once his Companion. You couldn’t tell him no.”

“I could have refused,” Severus replied stiffly.

“No, you could not. You and Lucius were trying to protect the boy. And if you repeat this, I’ll deny it…I wouldn’t trust Malfoy’s spawn with a flobberworm. Jack Parkinson needs to get his baby girl out of that engagement if he can, because little Pansy is no match for that viper.”

“Madness does run in the Black family, you know.” Severus stood up, reaching for the contract. “Thank you for your time.”

“Just a second, Severus. This Mr. Evans…does he have a brain?”

“He’s extremely intelligent. Why?”

“Apprentice him. Once he achieves his mastery, the contract can be dissolved.”

“So we can twist this contract? Is there any other way it could be twisted?”

Greengrass laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Well, there is one other way, but I don’t know that you’d ever agree to it.”

Severus looked down his long nose at the seated wizard. Apprenticeship was an acceptable compromise, but he wanted to offer Harry all of his options. “Continue.”

“You merely have to jump the broom.”

“Pardon me?”

“Bond with him. Take him as your consort.”

~*~*~*  
Water ran in rivulets as the summer storm battered the windows. Harry curled up on the sofa and watched the violent electrical storm rumble through the estate. Lightening flashed, bathing the room in a surreal light.

The weather had been fairly unpredictable, a perfect mirror to his moods. Almost completely isolated, Harry had spent hours examining himself as he tried to discover how much of his personality was Harrison Evans and how much belonged to his alters. Without the potions dulling his mind and senses, his body sometimes felt alien to him. Buried desires were rising unexpectedly to the surface. He had awoken that morning, sticky from a wet dream; he had not experienced one of those in years.

Severus entered the room accompanied by a deafening crash of thunder. A spicy, herbal scent clung to his robes. He had been brewing still another experimental salve for the Dark Lord’s arthritic fingers. It now had to rest for twelve hours before adding the next layer of ingredients.

Harry smiled. Now that Severus had emerged from his workrooms, perhaps he would stay awhile. Harry was a social creature by nature, and this isolation occasionally wore on him. He noticed the Potion Master often seemed to hover at the edge of human contact. He wondered what thoughts percolated behind those intense dark eyes.

~*~*~  
“Have you given any thought to your future?” Severus asked as they sat down to another quiet dinner.

“Well, I have the Potions Forum to survive in a few weeks time and then there’s the N.E.W.T.s.”

“After that. Your life doesn’t end in December with the N.E.W.T.s, it’s just beginning.” Severus speared a slice of roast beef. “Have you given any thoughts to a career?”

“You would permit me to pursue a career?” Harry could not keep the shock out of his voice.

“Of course. Did you think I would keep you like a doll on a shelf?”

From the expression on Harry’s face, Severus could see that Harry had never expected to have any sort of choice in his life. Of course, Draco would have taunted him for years, making Harry believe his only future was on his back with his legs spread wide.

“If you could do anything with your life, what would you choose?”

“I’m not sure. I kind of gave up dreaming years ago.” Harry turned his attention back to his Yorkshire pudding and roast beef. His mind began to swirl with the possibilities and he hoped that Severus was not offering empty promises.

“Take some time to think about it. You’ve obviously got a knack for potions. I could offer you an apprenticeship. Or teaching. Blaise said you liked to tutor.”

Harry smiled. “I’ve only ever had one real student, but I liked teaching Greg. Draco used to call him names, tell him he was an idiot. Granted, Greg wasn’t terribly smart, but he tried really hard. Don’t think I’d like to teach a whole class, but one-on-one was fun. Everyone is afraid of Greg because he’s built like a rock, but to me he’s always been a big puppy.”

“Are you still friends? You could invite him over if you like.”

“I’d like that. He feels guilty about what happened to me that night, but I told him I didn’t blame him.”

“He remembers? I thought Lucius obliviated them all.”

“He did, but Greg’s mind is wired a little differently. I think he’s a natural occlumens.” Harry was quiet for a moment, and then he smiled.

“When Greg was a Third Year at Hogwarts, he had to take Divination. What a load of manure that class was. You are either born a seer or you are not. He came home at Winter Solstice with an assignment to practice reading tea leaves. I wasn’t much good as a tutor, because I didn’t know a damn thing about Divination either, so we stumbled through ‘Unfogging the Future’ together.”

“Greg kept trying to read my tea leaves and came up with the most outrageous fortunes. One fortune kept coming up over and over. We laughed at how ridiculous it was.”

Severus liked to see Harry laugh. “What was your future?”

“Keep in mind, we were only thirteen at the time and I didn’t know I was a bearer.” Harry paused, his face growing pensive. “He told me I would give birth to twelve children, all of them girls.”

Silence.

“Do you want twelve daughters?” Severus finally asked.

“I don’t know about twelve, but one or two would be nice.”

~*~*~*  
Severus watched as Harry emerged from between the hedges. He had been to visit his daughter’s grave. The headstone had arrived a few days before, a pink marble bunny bearing the single word “Beloved”. Afraid that Draco could still use her for revenge, Harry declined to list her name and date of death. But “Beloved” was an appropriate epitaph; of Celtic/Gaelic origin, the word was precisely what the name Myrna meant.

He didn’t know quite how he felt about his Companion, but Severus was drawn to the quiet wizard. Infatuation, he wondered, or was it the pheromones Zabini cautioned about. Afraid of being rejected, Severus had deliberately pushed everyone away; how had this damaged little wizard managed to slip beneath his defenses?

And he kept having dreams of little dark haired girls. It had to be the pheromones.

~*~*~*  
Severus sat on a garden bench, watching the sun set over the surrounding hills. Insects buzzed around the blossoms, making one last visit before nightfall. Harry approached and sat beside him.

“I have a question.”

Severus met his eyes.

“When we talked about my future plans, you mentioned apprenticeship. Apprentices enter into a contract with certified Masters. Wouldn’t that cause a problem with the contract already in place?”

“That’s a valid question. I actually contacted my lawyer about that several days ago. He could draft a Contract of Apprenticeship that would nullify the Contract of Companionship, but only if you receive a Mastery in Potions. If you failed to receive Mastery, the apprenticeship would become null and void and you would, once again, be bound as my Companion.”

“The apprenticeship would have to be in Potions? It couldn’t be in anything else?”

“You are very good at Potions.” Severus was stung that Harry did not seem to share the same love of Potions he did. “You don’t want to become a Potion Master?”

Harry looked away. His fingers picked nervously at the sleeve of his robe. “If I have to achieve Mastery in Potions to regain my freedom, then I will.”

“What would you wish Mastery in?” 

“What I want…what I used to dream about is closely related to Potions and I would hope you would agree to assist in my training.” Harry nibbled nervously on his lower lip. He had not missed the other man’s reaction. “You are aware that I often cast my spells wandlessly.”

“Yes. That is a very special talent.”

“It was borne of necessity. My wand once belonged to my mum; it is not totally compatible with my magic. Anyway, I’ve always been able to cast healing charms wandlessly. With proper training…”

“You want to be a Healer.” That was an acceptable alternative to Potions.

“If I could…but would the Companionship Contract permit apprenticeship to another wizard?”

“I would have to ask Greengrass. It might not be possible, but a joint apprenticeship might work. The training overlaps during the first stages.” 

Severus watched Harry’s anxious fingers a moment before capturing them between his hands. They needed to find a way to harness that nervous energy.

“Is there any other way to alter the Contract of Companionship?”

“Yes. We could handfast. You would become my consort.”

“Okay,” Harry replied slowly.

“It may not be much different from the Companionship. Divorce is forbidden under Ministry Law.”

“True. But if it didn’t work out, after a few years, we could live apart. We could never remarry unless one of us died, but we could remain autonomous.”

“It is an option. I will need to contact Jonathan Greengrass for his expertise.”

“Severus?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want children?”

“I wouldn’t mind a few,” Severus replied and as he spoke he realized that the statement was true.

“Would you consider an even dozen, all of them girls?” 

Harry’s voice was light but the lightness belied the real terror that he felt at the thought of actually consummating the bond. Severus did not miss the frightened flicker in Harry’s eyes. One day, the Prince Estate could easily hold a dozen little girls and even a boy or two, but there would be no rush to fill the bedrooms. 

Harry rested his head on the Potion Master’s shoulder. Their hands were still joined.

“Master Snape, one day I will consider jumping a broom with you.”

~*~*~  
FIN

 

A Few Definitions: 

Oiran were high-class courtesans in Japan. The Oiran arose in the Edo period, 1600 - 1868. At this time, laws were passed restricting brothels to walled districts set some distance from the city center. These rapidly grew into large, self-contained "Pleasure Quarters" offering all manner of entertainments. Within, a courtesan's birth rank held no distinction but there arose a strict hierarchy according to beauty, character, educational attainments and artistic skills. Only the wealthiest and highest ranking could hope to patronize them.

To entertain their clients, oiran practiced the arts of dance, music, poetry and calligraphy, and an educated wit was considered essential to sophisticated conversation.

The rise of the geisha ended the era of the oiran. Geisha practiced the common entertainments enjoyed by the people of that time, and were much more accessible to the casual visitor. Their popularity grew rapidly and eclipsed that of the oiran. The last recorded oiran was in 1761. The few remaining women still currently practicing the arts of the oiran (without the sexual aspect) do so as a preservation of cultural heritage, rather than as a profession or lifestyle.   
(From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

“La Jarretelle Noir” = “The Black Garter” (French)

*Edema – an abnormal accumulation of fluid in cells, tissues or cavities of the body, resulting in swelling. (Webster’s New World Dictionary)

Sea Holly and Nutmeg are considered aphrodisiacs. 

Phoenix 1. in ancient mythology, a bird resembling an eagle that lived for 500 years and then burned itself to death on a pyre from whose ashes another phoenix arose. It commonly appears in literature as a symbol of death and resurrection.  
2\. a supremely beautiful, rare, or unique person or thing (Encarta Dictionary: English [North America])

Jumping the Broom The practice of having couples "jump the broom" during wedding ceremonies is both an African American custom as well as a neo-pagan custom.

In contrast to many West African traditions recognized and included in African American wedding ceremonies, the practice of "jumping the broom" is a wholly American addition that developed out of the institution of African slavery in the United States. Shortly after the introduction of slavery to the country, the right to legal marriage was taken away from the enslaved. Slaveholders considered the Africans property, and as property, they had no rights in the eyes of the law. The owners also feared that legal marriage and family bonds had the potential to lead to organization and revolt. Marriage rituals were important events to the Africans who came from numerous richly ceremonial cultures. When faced with the loss of the right to marry, many, ingrained with the significance of the marriage since childhood, created new rituals with what was on hand. Taking vows in the presence of a witness and then leaping over the handle of a broom became the common practice to create a recognized union. Incorporating "jumping the broom" into modern weddings is just one way African Americans today celebrate their cultural heritage.

Neo-pagans have borrowed this simple practice from the African American community, and have incorporated it into their handfastings. Many pagans, as well as non-pagans, now associate "jumping the broom" with pagan handfastings. For pagans not of African American decent, including a broom in the ceremony is appropriate. The broom represents a threshold. The handfasted couple, although still individuals, begin a new life together. Jumping over the broom represents crossing this threshold into new territory, a life vitally connected to another's. The leap that the couple takes over the broom is also symbolic. Starting a new life with another person does require a "leap of faith". But by taking the leap, the individuals make a gesture of dedication to working together through the tough times ahead. Brooms are also symbols of the hearth, the center of the new family being created. The broom also holds other significance specific to Neo-pagan and Wiccan beliefs.  
(From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)


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